


Sparks

by Toad1



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toad1/pseuds/Toad1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The Way brothers' relationship is platonic.) Kobra Kid travels through the Zones, darting from small town to small town, his true intentions a mystery. Party Poison scours the Zones for him, always one step behind. Why has Kobra left? And does he even want to be found? A fic that tries to give a detailed glimpse into Zone life-- especially the lives of the rarely-seen inbetweeners-- and the importance of the brothers' relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A faint knocking sound.  
  
Kobra stirred beneath the scratchy bedsheet. He pushed back the covers and glanced at the door, then curled up under the sheet again and closed his eyes.  
  
Another knock, harder this time. The pounding cut through his mind like a jackhammer. Kobra grimaced, then blearily opened his eyes and propped himself up on his arm.  
  
“ _HELLO?_ ” someone shouted outside, followed by more pounding.  
  
Kobra groaned, then pushed the sheet off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. He walked through the cramped kitchen, the linoleum sticking to his bare feet, and pushed open the door.  
  
A girl who looked about twelve or thirteen stood outside the camper, wearing a thin yellow dress that flapped around in the breeze. Her blonde hair was tied back with a thick leather strap. When Kobra opened the door, her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth.  
  
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” she said, gesturing wildly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you--”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said quickly.  
  
“Oh my God, I just woke you  up, I’m so sorry--”  
  
“No, no. It’s okay.” He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “What is it?”  
  
“Um...” She looked back at the motel, wringing her hands. “Um, my dad wants you to move your camper...”  
  
Kobra braced his hands on the edge of the doorway, leaned outside, and looked around. He was parked in front of a dusty brick motel. The building was L-shaped, with three rooms on the right and two rooms and what appeared to be an office on the left. Two white plastic chairs, a grimy red ball, a grey trash can, and an empty cooler were scattered on the walkway in front of the rooms. The roof was lined with dusty grey shingles, with a white gutter trailing along the edge of the roof and dangling off the side of the building, leading to a rain collection bucket placed on either side. Kobra was parked sideways in front of the office door.  
  
“Oh, _shit_ ,” he said. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I had a rough night last night, and-- yeah. I’ll move it.”  
  
“It’s fine,” she said. “But, um...after you move it, you can come in for breakfast, if you want.”  
  
“Really? You don’t mind?”  
  
“Yeah, we can set an extra place for you.”  
  
“You’ve got enough food?”  
  
“Yeah. Daddy got some eggs at the market last week.”  
  
Kobra winced. Since he was a child, he had refused to eat the slimy, wet, sour-tasting eggs his mother had put on his plate. But huddled in the refrigerator in his camper were nothing but gritty boxes and dented cans. Night after night, he had choked down forkfuls of bland mushiness, with grains of sand stuck in the food, and the cold and sterile taste the food adopted after sitting in his fridge for too long.  
  
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to. Just let me get parked, okay?”  
  
After he parked the camper in a parking spot in front of the white chair, he stepped into the bathroom, unlocked the cabinet under the sink, and pulled out a bundle of clothes. He tugged a pair of jeans over his black boxer shorts and pulled on a pair of socks, slipped into his boots, and shrugged a leather jacket over his faded Mousekat T-shirt. After locking the cabinet and stepping out of the bathroom, he hesitated, then took his ray gun from under his pillow, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, and headed outside.  
  
The girl gasped with delight when he stepped outside.  
  
“Oh my God, look at you, all dressed up!” she said. He smiled.  
  
She gestured for him to follow her and ran off to the office, her sandals smacking against the ground. He locked the door, then followed after her and slipped through the office door behind her.  
  
The office’s walls and desk were wood paneled, with smooth grey countertops. On the walls hung an old-fashioned round clock with hands, a 2020 Better Living calendar with a photo of a blocky white building, a Zone map covered in thumbtacks, two kerosene lanterns, a wooden carved sign titled _RULES AND REGULATIONS_ , and several paper signs, including one that said _NO CHECKS._ On the front desk sat a cash register, boxes of old, yellowed pamphlets, a plastic cup of pens and stubby pencils, and a few small cardboard boxes. Against the back wall were a stained porcelain sink, a small stove, a locked mini-fridge, a fire extinguisher, a large metal lockbox, and a desk stacked with boxes, cups, packages, and bundles. Near the front desk sat a light green fold-out table covered with dark-edged stains, with a small plastic red chair and a cushioned folding chair.  
  
Behind the desk stood an elderly man wearing a black-and-red plaid shirt, who was pushing something white and crackling around in a pan on the stove. A stack of toast sat next to the pan.  
  
A bell above the door jingled when Kobra stepped in, and the man looked up. He stepped back and studied Kobra for a moment.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Are you here for a room?”  
  
Kobra shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the girl interrupted him.  
  
“I invited him to have breakfast with us,” she said.  
  
“I’ve only made two eggs, sweetheart,” the man said, gesturing to the pan with the spatula. The spatula shook in his veiny hand.  
  
“It’s fine,” Kobra said. “I don’t have to stay, sir, I need to get going--”  
  
“No, no, no!” The girl grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward. “Come on, Dad, he’s Kobra Kid, we have to have him, please? _Please?_ ”  
  
“Sweetheart, we can’t afford to feed strangers.”  
  
“He’s not a stranger! Dad, _please!_ He can have mine!”  
  
“Oh, no-- I can pay,” Kobra said, pulling out his wallet. He removed a carbon and held it out. The man studied it, then turned back to the pan.  
  
“They’re up to two carbons now,” he said.  
  
Kobra paused and studied the nine carbons in his wallet. Enough to buy a few rusty cans of crumbly food, or a full tank of gas. Then he looked at the fresh sizzling eggs in the pan, the girl’s wide eyes as she bounced on her heels, and pulled out another carbon and held it out to the man.  
  
“Daddy, look!” the girl said.  
  
The man turned around and studied the bill, then nodded and removed a key ring from his belt. He slowly bent over and unlocked the fridge, then took out a small yellow bowl with three brown eggs and cracked one into the pan. Then he took out a slice of bread, jammed it in the toaster perched on the sink, and pressed down the lever.  
  
“Oh my God! Thank you! _Thank you!_ ” The girl jumped onto the desk and hopped off to the other side, then wrapped her arms around his waist. He chuckled and patted her on the head.  
  
“Oh my God, oh my God--” The girl dashed over to the table and sat down in the red chair. “Sit down!” she said, pointing to the chair across from her. Kobra glanced at the man, wondering if he should take his seat, but the girl said “Come on, sit down!” He tentatively pushed the chair back and sank into the cushioned seat.  
  
“I can’t believe this is happening,” the girl said. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, sir, I’ve got so many questions.” Then she laced her fingers together, rested them on the table, and took on a professional tone. “Is the rest of the Fabulous Four here?”  
  
“The guys?” He glanced at the door. “Uh...no. No, they’re not.”  
  
She nodded solemnly. “What made you want to become a Killjoy?”  
  
“Uh...” He thought for a moment. “Freedom, I guess?” He laughed a little.  
  
Another nod. “What are your plans for the future?”  
  
After a few minutes of questioning, the man scooped the eggs from the pan, placed each one on a piece of toast, and plated them. Kobra jumped from his seat, took the first two plates, and laid them on the table, while the girl grabbed a tackle box from the desk. Inside were rusty forks, spoons, and knives, Better Living condiment packets, napkins, and a salt and pepper shaker. She laid out three sets of forks and napkins on the table, her movements slow and deliberate.  
  
The man handed the last plate to Kobra, then gripped the edge of the desk and shakily began to make his way around.  
  
“Does he need some help?” Kobra said to the girl.  
  
She shook her head. “He’s fine.”  
  
“Bethany, go get one of the chairs from outside,” the man said.  
  
“Oh, it’s okay,” Kobra said. “I can stand.”  
  
The man nodded and continued inching past the desk. By the time he had sat down, Bethany had hurried outside and returned with three cups, each filled with an inch and a half of water. She handed Kobra a glass and he peered inside. There were a few grains of sand floating in it, but the water was otherwise clear.  
  
Kobra ate while leaning against the desk. The toast was dry, tough, and stale, but he had learned long ago to devour anything bready and filling. The fried egg was crusty on the outside, but goopy and eggy on the inside, and the rich yolk that flowed out like yellow lava. As a child it would have made him nauseous, but now it made his mouth water. He ate slowly and sipped his water.  
  
An image flashed in his mind of Poison standing next to him, shoveling floppy white forkfuls into his mouth. For a second he almost believed that if he turned he would see Poison there. But when he turned, he saw nothing but empty space.  
  
“What are you doing out here?” Bethany said suddenly.  
  
“Hush, Bethany,” the man said. “Don’t bother him while he’s eating.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Kobra said. He paused, staring down at his plate. “Uh...I’m on a mission.”  
  
“A mission for what?”  
  
“Looking for someone.”  
  
“Looking for who?”  
  
“It’s none of our business, Bethany,” the man said. “And eat slower, or you’ll make yourself sick again.”  
  
Kobra drummed his fingers against his plate. The yolk still seeped from the puncture wound in the egg, soaked up by hunks of bread that were becoming mushy and sodden. Memories suddenly flooded his mind...  
  
 _Shit, shit, are you okay? What happened, kiddo? Oh God, I thought he looked pale..._ Kobra was conscious of vague movement and arms around his shoulders and legs, and then a soft, thick surface beneath him. His vision was a blurred haze, like a TV screen buzzing with static. _Are you with me, kiddo? He’s got to eat something, go grab the bread..._ Poison’s voice sounded murky and far away. _Are you okay, Kid? Come on, look at me, we’re gonna get you something, just hang on..._ A hand patted his face. _Look at me, kiddo, that’s good, that’s good...you got it? Okay, here._ A tearing sound. _Open your mouth, Kid._ Poison pried his mouth open and crammed something soft and grainy inside, then rubbed his throat. _There you go, Kid, swallow it, swallow it, good...okay, here comes another..._  
  
There was a faint rattling sound. Bethany and her father were staring at him. Kobra looked down and realized that the fork was jiggling against the plate held in his shaking hands.  
  
“Are you all right, son?” the man said.  
  
Kobra took a breath, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m-- I’m sorry. I’m fine.”  
  
He soaked up the rest of the yolk with the bread and crammed it into his mouth, then threw his head back and downed the rest of his water in one sip. He rested the cup and plate on the desk, laid the carbons next to them, then turned back to Bethany and her father.  
  
“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “I’m sorry. Thank you for the food, I really appreciate it, I--”  
  
“Wait!” Bethany said, pushing her seat back and standing up. “You can’t leave, you just came here!”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry. But I shouldn’t have stayed this long.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” Her voice raised in pitch.  
  
“No, nothing’s wrong, it’s just-- I’ve gotta go.”  
  
“O-okay...wait! Can I get an autograph first?”  
  
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta leave--”  
  
Her face fell.  
  
Kobra sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”  
  
She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the desk and shoved it in his hands. He scribbled _KOBRA KID_ in wide, loopy scrawl over what looked like an official document.  
  
“Will you be back?” she said, taking it and flattening it against her chest.  
  
“I-I don’t know.”  
  
“ _Please_? You have to come back, _please?_ ”  
  
“I’m sorry, just-- don’t show that to anyone, okay?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Don’t show it to anyone, okay? And don’t tell anyone I was here. Please.”  
  
He looked at her pleadingly. She stepped back a little, looked down at the autograph, then nodded solemnly.  
  
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.” He handed Bethany the pen, gave her a quick, one-armed hug, shook the man’s hand, and hurried out the door. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket as he ran, dug through it until he found the key, unlocked the camper door and wrenched it open, and jumped into the driver’s seat. After switching on the engine, he backed out of the parking space and pulled out onto the road.  
  
\---  
  
A faint scratching sound.  
  
Poison shifted, his face pressed against the leathery seat cushion. He raised his head, blinking wearily, then slid his ray gun out of the holster strapped to his hip, slowly pushed himself up in the seat, and pointed his gun at the door.  
  
There was more scratching, and then a faint meow.  
  
Poison laughed and lowered his gun, then sat up and opened the back door. A scrawny black cat paced around outside. It stopped, put its paws on the edge of the doorway, sniffed, and jumped inside. Poison picked the cat up and placed it on the seat next to him, grinning as he rubbed its neck. The cat paced back and forth, meowing.  
  
“Where’d you come from, little guy? Hmm?” He picked it up and cradled it like a baby, then stepped out of the car. A cold gust of wind whipped his hair around his face. He had parked the Trans Am behind a large tin shack made of mottled grey metal slats, the first in a string of shabby buildings that went on for a mile. Behind the shack were piles of scrap metal, a stripped rusty car, a stack of tires, a broken radiator, two empty oil barrels, and scattered dry desert shrubs. Farther back were sandy hills dotted with grey shrubs. Stretched along the town were a rocky winding road, gnarled small trees and shrubs, and defunct powerlines covered with signs and spray paint. A motorcycle suddenly roared by, making Poison jump. The cat writhed in his arms, and he bent over and placed it on the ground. It shot over to the next building and out of sight.  
  
After locking the car, Poison walked along the road, the hot sand crunching beneath his boots. He approached a smaller metal shack splotched with reddish-brown rust, with rotting wood windowpanes, dusty glass windows, an aluminum roof, and a rusty chain-link fence. Inside the fence were piles of scrap metal, a bicycle lying on its side, and a black oil drum with wire mesh stretched over the top and a flame crackling inside. Small blackened pieces of  meat sat on the mesh, giving off a rich, meaty scent that made Poison’s stomach growl. A barefoot woman stood in front of the drum, her wind-blown blonde hair tied back, wearing a plaid dress that looked like it had once been a tablecloth.  
  
Poison gripped the top of the fence and leaned forward. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said with a beaming smile.  
  
The woman turned around, then jumped back in fright. “Oh goodness,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am. How are you today?”  
  
“I’m fine, I suppose...are you hungry?”  
  
She flipped a piece of meat over with a twig, and it popped and hissed, clear juices bubbling out. Poison’s mouth watered as images of the smoky charred rabbit he had devoured last month filled his mind. But he grinned again and shook his head.  
  
“Oh, no, thank you, I already ate.” He patted his stomach. “But hey, uh...I’m looking for someone.” He leaned forward, laced his fingers together, and rested his wrists on the top of the fence. “Has anyone new come through here recently?”  
  
She thought for a moment. “Not that I can recall. Well, there was an elderly fellow here a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Have you seen anyone else? A younger guy, maybe?”  
  
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”  
  
“Okay.” He nodded. “Well, have you heard the name Kobra Kid?”  
  
“Cobra Kid? No...no, that doesn’t sound familiar.”  
  
“Well, he’s my brother. Looks a lot like me, except he’s taller--” Poison held his hand above his head. “Blonde hair, red jacket, wears sunglasses indoors. Sound familiar?”  
  
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I haven’t seen him,” she said. “But I did see a fellow with blonde hair a few months ago--”  
  
Poison leaned forward. “Oh yeah? Did he wear a red jacket?”  
  
“No, he wore a pair of khakis.”  
  
“Well, what’d he look like?”  
  
“He was a heavyset man with a scar on the side of his face.” She traced a curved line on her cheek with her forefinger.  
  
“Oh.” Poison’s shoulders sunk, and he rubbed his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, uh...have you heard anything about him? Has someone mentioned his name around here?”  
  
“Are you rebels?”  
  
“Yes ma’am.”  
  
“Well, this is a neutral town, sir. I’m afraid we don’t get much news about rebel affairs.”  
  
He sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Thank you.”  
  
Her brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything all right? Is he missing?”  
  
“No, he’s-- we got separated.”  
  
She nodded. “I see. Well, I hope you find him safe. I know how hard it can be. My niece went missing last year.”  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. Is she okay?”  
  
“Oh, yes, she’s fine. Just wandered off after a bonfire. It took us three days of searching to find her. Three long, stressful days.”  
  
Poison nodded, a lump rising in his throat. He coughed into his fist. “Hey, uh,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “You got a market around here? Or maybe a restaurant?”  
  
“No restaurants, I’m afraid,” she said. “But we do have a marketplace--” She pointed to the large, rusty shack that Poison had parked behind. “It should start setting up in an hour, if you’re interested.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Perfect.” He held out his hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so much.”  
  
She shook his hand and smiled faintly. “Of course.”  
  
Poison walked back to the Trans Am, sat down in the driver’s seat, and unclipped his transmitter from his belt. He turned the knob, flitting through grungey music, babbling voices, Dr. Death Defying’s commanding voice, code words, and static, until he found Kobra’s frequency. It buzzed with static. He turned the knob several times, always coming back to Kobra’s frequency, but each time he was met with a rush of static. Finally he turned the knob to Ghoul’s frequency, feeling the familiar rise of hope.  
  
“Hey, Ghoul?” he said.  
  
“Hey, man. Where are you?”  
  
“I’m at, uh...I don’t know.” Poison peered out the window and squinted at the buildings, but didn’t see a signpost. “Some neutral town.”  
  
“How far out are you?”  
  
Poison’s heart sank. If there were news, Ghoul would have immediately told him.  
  
“Uh, pretty far, I guess. Crossed into Zone Four an hour ago.”  
  
“Zone Four? Holy shit, man. Are you sure you want to be out there?”  
  
“Yeah, man, I’m fine.”  
  
“You’ve still got supplies?”  
  
Poison’s eyes back flickered to the trunk, where he kept a metal lockbox. Inside were a tin of baked beans, a bottle of water, and a half-full can of powdered milk.  
  
“Uh...yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“Good. Well, don’t stay out there much longer, dude.”  
  
“Yeah, right...listen, is there any news back there?”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Nope,” Ghoul said regretfully. “Sorry, man. Same old.”  
  
“Did you tell Dr. D to--”  
  
“Yeah, he sent out the transmission.”  
  
“Did anything come up?”  
  
“A couple of guys called and said they saw him in Zone Two, but we’re pretty sure they were just fucking around. Jet went out and talked to some people, no one’s seen him for weeks.”  
  
“No one? Not one person?”  
  
“No, dude.” Ghoul’s voice sounded heavy.  
  
“Did you ask everyone?”  
  
“No, we don’t have time to ask everyone.”  
  
“Maybe someone saw him!”  
  
“Dude, we can’t ask every single person in Zone Two if they’ve seen Kobra!”  
  
“Yeah, you can! What if you’re missing something? Someone has to have seen him, he didn’t just disappear--”  
  
“I know, man! Okay? We’re doing our best out here! If you want to interview everyone, get your ass back to the diner and do it yourself!”  
  
There was a pause. Poison rubbed his face with his hand.  
  
“I’m-- I’m sorry, Ghoul,” he said. “I’m just-- I don’t know, man. I’m stressed, you know?”  
  
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Ghoul said gently. “We’re stressed over here, too. Should’ve heard Jet an hour ago. The dude nearly bit my head off for leaving the cap off the gas can.”  
  
Poison laughed a little. “Should’ve told him where to stick that cap.”  
  
“Believe me, I thought about it.”  
  
Poison smiled. “Well, there’s a market here opening in an hour. I’m going to get some supplies...I’ll, uh, radio you again in a couple of hours.”  
  
“All right. I’ll see you then. And don’t piss any neutrals off, will you?” he teased.  
  
“I’ll try, man.” Poison clicked off.


	2. Chapter 2

On either side of Kobra stretched the vast open desert, dotted with twisted grey shrubs, prickly cacti, rocks, and occasional crumpled papers and punctured tires. The sun gleamed high in the sky, scorching the sand and the worn, cracked pavement. The road seemed to stretch endlessly through the desert, like a long black tongue.  
  
Kobra drummed his fingers on the leather steering wheel. He had a zippered black case full of cassette tapes back at the diner, but all he had now was three scratched CDs that lay scattered on the dashboard. He picked one up and squinted the words scribbled on the front in black marker. _J. BLUE’S PARTY MIX._ He shrugged, then opened the case one-handed and slid the CD into the slot.  
  
A few clicks, a pause, and then a steady drum beat. Kobra started to bob his head as the music picked up, then launched into the first verse. Suddenly the song caught on a single note and began to skip. He switched to the next song and heard a series of skips. He switched to song after that and heard more skips. He switched to the next song. More skips.  
  
He groaned, then turned the CD player off and flipped through radio stations, but heard nothing but static, angry mumbling, blaring keyboard music, more static, elevator music, a string of code words, more static, and someone screaming in Spanish. Shaking his head _,_ he turned the radio off. _  
_  
The drive was eerily silent, with only the hum of the engine and the sound of wheels grinding on pavement. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel again and sighed. Two silver bells hung from the windshield mirror. He reached up and swatted them, and they jingled merrily, then settled back into silence.  
  
Suddenly a large brown blur appeared on the horizon. Kobra shielded his eyes and leaned forward, slowing down as he approached. The blur started to form into a small shack built near the side of the road, made of faded wood and rusty metal slats. Beside the shack sat a tiny wooden house and a wire mesh cage with something white flapping and ruffling inside. A rusty blue bicycle was chained to a post next to the shack.  
  
In front of the shack stood a blonde girl wearing black sunglasses, a broad straw sun hat, and a dress made from bright red fabric with a black-and-white paisley pattern. The girl stuck her thumb out, holding a cardboard sign with something scribbled on it. When she saw Kobra approach, she cried out, then ran out into the middle of the road, waving her arm and holding up the sign.  
  
“Yo!” she shouted. “Hey! You! Can I get a ride?”  
  
Kobra snapped to alertness and slammed on the breaks. The girl stepped back a few feet, and the camper slid to a halt a few inches in front of her. Kobra let go of the steering wheel, then released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and slumped forward in his seat.  
  
The girl skipped over to the passenger side of the camper and tugged on the door handle. When it didn’t open, she frowned and gripped the handle, leaned back, planted her feet firmly on the ground, and yanked as hard as she could. Kobra stood up and hurried over to the door.  
  
“Hold on, let go,” he said.  
  
“What?” she shouted.  
  
“Let go of the door. I’m going to open it.”  
  
She released the handle and stood back, and he unlocked the door and swung it open. She looked him up and down for a moment, then smiled and nodded as if to say “Nice.”  
  
“Hey, can I get a ride?” she said, holding her sign by a corner and swinging it back and forth. Her hair blew and tangled in the wind, but she didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Uh...I don’t know, I’m kinda--”  
  
“Kinda busy?”  
  
He nodded and laughed a little. “Yeah.”  
  
She dropped the sign on the ground, then braced herself against the doorframe, leaned in, and peered inside.  
  
“I like your trailer,” she said. “Where’d you get it?”  
  
“Uh, from a friend.”  
  
“From a friend, huh? Pretty nice friend. Did he give you this for free?”  
  
“Oh, no, not for free. I had to trade, uh-- I had to trade something for it.”  
  
“Oh.” She nodded. “Well, do you mind giving me a ride? I’ve gotta get up to Shackleville to sell my stuff. You know where that is?”  
  
“Shackleville? Uh...” He scoured his brain, but he had never seen it on a Zone map.  
  
“It’s a pretty small town. I can give you directions, if you want.”  
  
“That’s okay. Listen, I’m sorry, I’d love to help you, but I’ve gotta go--”  
  
“No, it won’t take long! You can just drive me up there, then drive me back when we’re done.”  
  
“How long is that?”  
  
“Like five hours.”  
  
Kobra groaned.  
  
“No, come on, I’m not dangerous or nothing! We haven’t seen a car for days, _please?_ ”  
  
Ghoul had once told Kobra a story about a Killjoy who begged for a ride, then beat the driver to a bruised and bloody pulp, stole his wallet, dumped him on the side of the road, and drove off in his car. Kobra studied the girl for suspicious bulges in her dress, nervous tics, hints of a threat beneath her words, but found none.  
  
“Okay, okay. How about I give you something in return?”  
  
“No, I’m sorry, I--”  
  
“No, look. When’s the last time you had fresh milk?”  
  
Kobra looked up at her in surprise.  
  
“Yup! I’ve got cheese, I’ve got eggs, I’ve got butter, I’ve got milk...” She counted them off on her fingers. “You can take your pick.”  
  
“Really? Like the fake city stuff?”  
  
“No, sir. This is the real deal. You see those chickens over there?” She pointed to the driver’s seat window, and Kobra looked out to see chickens flapping around in the wire pen. “I’ve got a couple of goats out back, too. Give us fresh milk every week. C’mon, I’ll show you the stuff.”  
  
Kobra paused and took a deep breath. He had a sudden vision of himself lying bloody and twisted in the sand, while the girl drove off cackling. But he had eaten dry, processed food out of cold tin cans and worn cardboard boxes for weeks, and it had been months since he had seen fresh milk that wasn’t powdered, or soft dewy cheese instead of hard processed blocks. Maybe he could even ask her to send some back to the guys...  
  
“Okay,” he said with  a nod. “Sure.”  
  
She grinned. “All right!” She picked up her sign, then turned and gestured for him to follow. While she walked toward the shack, he took his ray gun from the glove compartment and tucked it into his waistband, then stepped outside, locked the door, and followed after her.  
  
He ducked his head and shielded his eyes from the blinding sun. The cold wind whipped his hair around his face, blowing so loudly that it was like being in a wind tunnel. Finally he stumbled into the shack, and the wind slammed the door behind him.  
  
“Hang on. Wipe your feet, sir,” the girl said, pointing to the floor. Kobra looked down and saw a bristly black mat beneath his feet. He dragged his feet across it a few times, grains of sand getting caught in the bristles.  
  
“Okay, you’re good,” she said, gesturing for him to approach.  
  
The one-room shack was made of panels of light brown wood, with a greyish substance sealing up the cracks. A small black wood stove sat on the corner, perched on a slab of rock, next to a wire basket full of twigs. On the other side of the stove were a filthy porcelain sink with the knobs and faucet missing, a shelf that held a few plastic buckets, two musty leather suitcases, a stack of folded towels, and what looked like an old-fashioned crock pot. Along the adjacent wall stood a wooden cabinet with a few blackened rotting spots, a white lockbox with a keypad and a Better Living logo, and a shelf that held empty bottles and jars, small boxes, tin cups and plates, and a few dusty books. A wire-framed bed with a stained white mattress, a flat grey pillow, and a thin green sheet stood along the opposite wall, with another suitcase beneath it. A bristly straw broom leaned against the wall, next to a wooden stool. In the middle of the room sat a plastic fold-out table with two wooden chairs. A Christian cross made from twigs hung above the stove. A thin red-and-white-striped bedsheet had been nailed across the window, and it inflated and deflated in the breeze.  
  
“You like it?” the girl said.  
  
“Yeah, I do,” Kobra said. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
“Thanks.” She smiled, then took off a thin silver necklace. A rusty bronze key dangled from the chain. “All right. Cover your eyes and ears, okay?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I keep the stuff in a secret storage compartment. Go cover your eyes and ears, okay? Maybe stand in that corner over there.”  
  
“Oh. Oh, yeah, sure.” He looked uncomfortably around the room, then stepped over to the corner with the broom and stool. He glanced back at her and she nodded. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and clapped his hands over his ears. A few moments later, there were the muffled sounds of something being dragged across the floor, a lock clicking open, a door creaking open, and jars and buckets clattering. Something was laid on the table. There was a pouring sound, and something squished. Then more clattering, a door creaked shut, a lock clicked, and something was pushed back across the floor.  
  
“Okay, you’re good!” she said. Kobra lowered his hands and looked back at the table. His mouth started to water. There were three bottles filled with rich white liquid, a thick droplet running down the neck of the first bottle. Kobra could have gulped down all three bottles, his mouth was so dry and parched.  
  
In a bright red bowl sat a lump of something moist, soft, and white. A discarded moist, white-stained piece of  cloth sat next to the bowl. The last time he had tasted cheese had been a few months ago, when Poison had bought a hard yellow plastic-wrapped brick, so tough that he had been forced to hack at it with a knife until it yielded thick, tangy shards. Poison’s face would have lit up at the sight of cheese so fresh and moist he could squeeze it between his fingers.  
  
Next to the bowl sat two plastic Styrofoam egg cartons, a jar of water, and a small jar of something creamy and yellow that Kobra assumed was butter. With the sunlight filtering through the curtain and glinting off the bottles, the table looked like a photograph from a tattered magazine from the old days that Kobra had once flipped through while Jet cleaned and bandaged a deep cut on his ankle.  
  
“That looks good,” Kobra said, then laughed.  
  
She laughed. “Yeah, it is pretty good. I might get a piglet next month, if I hang on to my savings.”  
  
“Oh yeah? You like bacon?”  
  
“Oh, it’s not just bacon. You raise a whole pig, you can get bacon, ham, sausage...” She counted off on her fingers. “But anyway, we’ve got to get going. Malachi’s going to be here soon. That’s my brother,” she added in response to his questioning look. “He comes over when I’m gone and watches over the place. Oh, and I’m Sunny, by the way.” She extended a hand over the table, and he reached over and shook it. “And I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.”  
  
Kobra paused, waiting for her to recognize him. But she continued to smile expectantly.  
  
“Uh...Michael,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Michael James.”  
  
“Michael James, huh? Isn’t that from the Bible?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Yeah, my name comes from the Bible. Susanna. That’s my full name.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, hang on, I’ll show you.”  
  
She started toward the books on the shelf, but suddenly an engine roared outside. Wheels crunched on the sand, and the engine sputtered and died.  
  
“Oh, that’s probably Malachi!” she said and hurried outside. Kobra took one last glance at the table, then followed her out the door.  
  
Kobra waved a hand in front of his face and coughed, the bitter stench of exhaust smoke clouding the air. A scrawny man in a dark green jacket sat on a black rust-stained motorcycle that was parked in front of the shack. He took off his helmet and shook the dust out of his hair, then tucked the helmet under his arm and stepped off. When Sunny approached, he grinned and pulled her into a quick hug.  
  
“Who’s this?” he said after they parted, gesturing to Kobra with his helmet.  
  
“Oh, that’s Michael. He’s going to take me up to Shackleville today.”  
  
“Oh yeah? About time we got a visitor around here. How are you, man?”  
  
He stepped up to Kobra and held out his hand. “Oh, I’m fine,” Kobra said, and shook it. “How are you?”  
  
“Pretty good, thanks. Is that your RV right there?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s mine.”  
  
“Figured that. I’d kill for one of those, but we’re too poor to afford one, as you can probably guess.” He laughed a little, then sniffed and rubbed his nose. “You mind if I take a look inside?”  
  
“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”  
  
“Hang on, let me get the stuff,” Sunny said.   
  
“Be back in a second, man,” Malachi said. They disappeared into the shack, and returned a few minutes later carrying a large white cooler and a folded metal cart. A shiny red purse with a spaghetti-thin strap swung from Sunny’s shoulder. Kobra hurried up to the camper, unlocked the door, and stood back to let them pass.  
  
“Where do you want me to put this?” Sunny said as hefted the cooler up the steps.  
  
“Oh, uh…here.” Kobra opened the fridge and she slid the box onto the bottom rack.  
  
“Does it work? The light’s not on.”  
  
“Nah, it was busted when I got it.”  
  
“Damn, hope you didn’t pay too much for it,” Malachi said.  
  
Kobra laughed. “Not too much, yeah.”  
  
“What’ve you got in that microwave up there?”  
  
“This?” Kobra opened the door, revealing a stack of thin books. “A bunch of books. They came with the camper.”  
  
Malachi nodded. “What about those cabinets down there?” He pointed to the cabinets beneath the sink. Kobra knelt down and opened them, revealing a jumble of plastic bowls and pots and pans.  
  
Malachi nodded again. “Cool…cool…how about those shelves up there? Probably more pots and pans, right?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
  
“You mind if I take a look? Just out of curiosity.”  
  
“Uh…yeah, sure.” Kobra opened the shelves above the stove, revealing plastic cups and a bag of paper plates.  
  
“Cool, cool. Paper plates—there’s something I haven’t seen in a while. Hey, do you mind if I take a leak?”  
  
“Uh—no. Go ahead.”  
  
“Just down the hallway, right?”  
  
“Yeah, on the left.”  
  
Malachi walked down the hallway, peered into the bedroom, then stepped into the bathroom. Tension rose in Kobra’s stomach. He listened closely for the sounds of a lock being picked or a cabinet squeaking open, but heard only the toilet seat being lifted, a pause, and then a loud flush.  
  
Malachi stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door, his boots clomping against the linoleum. “Thanks, Mike,” he said. “Man, it feels good to use a real bathroom for once.” He turned to Sunny. “Hey, you’ve got your transmitter, right?”  
  
“Yup.” She lifted the buttoned flap on her purse, and pulled out her transmitter.  
  
“Good girl. Let me know if there’s any trouble, all right?”  
  
“You bet.”  
  
“All right. Well, I guess I’ll let you two get going.” He patted her shoulder. “See you later, kiddo.”  
  
Kobra’s eyes suddenly pricked, but he didn’t know why.  
  
“See you, Malachi,” Sunny said.  
  
Malachi headed toward the door, then stopped and turned to Kobra. “Thanks again, man. Take care of her, all right?”  
  
Kobra unconsciously stepped back and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”  
  
“Good. I’ll see you when you get back.”  
  
He gave Sunny a final wave, then climbed down the steps, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sunny slid into the kitchen table booth, then opened her purse, pulled out a jar of red nail polish, and flattened her palm on the table and began swiping the brush across her thumbnail.  
  
“Sorry about that,” she said. “He’s really paranoid. He was checking for weapons.”  
  
Kobra breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
She laughed a little. “That relieves you?”  
  
“Yeah, I thought he was going to rob me.”  
  
“Oh. Nah, he’s an honest guy. Hey, this table won’t jiggle too much, will it?”  
  
“Yeah, probably a little.”  
  
“Dang. Well, I’ll survive. Tried painting my nails while riding a horse once. That was way worse.”  
  
She hunched over her hand and painted her nails with tiny, precise strokes. Malachi’s “See you, kiddo” echoed in Kobra’s mind. He shook himself and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, then headed to the driver’s seat.

\---

Poison strolled down the road, a light breeze tussling his hair. Townspeople were beginning to stir and emerge from their small wooden shacks, and the smells of coffee and cooked meat wafted through the air. Small fires blazed in campfires, oil drums, and stoves, and tin pans and kettles glinted in the sunlight. Gristly brushes and shrubs swayed in the wind. A black-and-white speckled goat paced around in front of one shack, and a few chickens clucked and strutted around in a small pen that circled a telephone pole. A few birds pecked on the ground and fluttered among the rooftops, chirping loudly.  
  
The townspeople wore a mixture of plain patterned fabric, T-shirts with faded Battery City logos and slogans, neon-colored pants and patch-covered jackets, and curtains and tablecloths fashioned into clothing. They crouched around campfires, paced around their yards, threw seed to chickens, pushed food around with spatulas, and dug in the sand. One woman sat on a set of rickety front steps, mixing white dough in a bowl. A man in the next yard knelt in front of a bucket, squishing and wringing clothes in the water. Some people ignored Poison when he passed, their eyes fixed on their work. Others gave him a casual nod or wave. A few stepped back in shock and recognition, some with wide, frightened eyes, others with impressed nods.  
  
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to a woman wearing neon green pants and a baggy plaid shirt, who was throwing seed to baby chicks. “I’m looking for a man named Kobra Kid--”  
  
“Uh...Kobra Kid? That’s his name?”  
  
“Yes ma’am. He’s tall, blonde, wears a red jacket--”  
  
“Haven’t seen him. Sorry.” She turned back to the chicks.  
  
He approached a middle-aged man who was leaning against a shack and squinting up at the sky.   
  
“Excuse me, sir,” Poison said. “I’m looking for a man named Kobra Kid--”  
  
“Named what?”  
  
“Kobra Kid. He’s my brother. Blonde hair, about this tall--”  
  
“Never heard of him.” He rubbed his nose and sniffed. “But a Serpent’s Son came through here not too long ago.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What’d he look like?”  
  
“Big, crabby, carried a baseball bat. Scared the crap out of the kids.”  
  
Poison winced. “Ooh, glad I didn’t run into him.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Well, thank you, sir. Have a good day.”  
  
“You bet.”  
  
A dark-skinned girl sat in front of the shack across the street, poking around in a shrub. When she saw Poison walking toward her, her eyes lit up. He smiled and sank down to one knee, then pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.  
  
“You’re Party Poison,” the girl said, still rooting around in the shrub.  
  
Poison grinned. “Why, yes I am. What’s your name?”  
  
“Shawna.” She pulled something wiggly out of the shrub, then pressed it into his hand.  
  
“What’s that you’ve got-- heeeey, awesome!” A shiny green beetle crawled around his palm. He tilted his hand so that it crawled up his index finger, then spread its wings and flew away with a faint buzzing sound. Poison let out a high-pitched laugh, and the girl put her hands to her mouth and giggled. She pulled out another beetle and pressed it into his hand.  
  
Poison laughed. “How many have you got in there?”  
  
“A lot.”  
  
“What do you want to name him?” Poison turned his hand back and forth as the beetle crawled across the back of his hand and his palm.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“How about Eric?”  
  
“Eric?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s a nice name. Do you like the name Eric?”  
  
Suddenly a door creaked open and slammed shut, and Poison’s head shot up. A dark-skinned woman with long black hair and a blue dress stood on the tiny porch.   
  
Poison slowly rose to his feet and smiled at her. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, raising a hand in greeting.  
  
She glanced at him, then looked away. “Why don’t you come in, Shawna,” she said, crossing her arms.  
  
Shawna shook her head. “Uh-uh.”  
  
“Come on in, honey. Breakfast’s almost ready.”  
  
“I wanna play.”  
  
“I know, honey, but you need to come in.”  
  
Shawna swatted at the shrub. “Why?”  
  
“Because I said so.”  
  
She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”  
  
The woman sighed, then hopped off the porch, hurried over to where Shawna sat, and picked her up in her arms.  
  
“No!” Shawna said. “No no no no no--” She clawed and flailed like a caged animal, nearly tumbling out of the woman’s arms.   
  
“Shawna, stop it! Shawna!” The child tugged on her neckline and started to scream. “ _Shawna!_ ”  
  
She smacked Shawna on the rear, and the girl started to howl. The woman hauled her back to the porch, wrenched open the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut. A moment later, curtains dropped down over both front windows. Poison stood next to the shrub for a moment, then sighed, shook his head, brushed the beetle off his sleeve, and continued to walk down the road.  
  
After a few minutes of walking, the rocky, crumbly road became a cracked and faded pavement highway, with rows of tall brick buildings on either side. Dull streetlights hung from telephone wires strung above the road, and rusty stop signs and speed limit signs stood along the cracked sidewalks. The buildings displayed chipped and faded paint, broken windows shielded with cloth, glass doors with old names and business hours still painted on them, weeds and shrubs growing between the brick and the sidewalk, and torn paper signs that ruffled in the breeze.  
  
A few people milled around the buildings, chatting to each other, strolling down the streets, and kicking rocks. A girl wearing a denim vest and jeans leaned against a pale yellow building on the corner, a cigarette dangling from her lips. Poison smiled and said “Good morning!” She froze, her hand halfway to the cigarette, her eyes wide.  
  
Poison blinked and frowned. He pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and kept walking.  
  
A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a green building. The trim had once been white, but in many places the paint had been worn down to the wood. A wooden sign propped up inside the window read _SHACKLEVILLE PHARMACY & MEDICAL SUPPLIES. _Poison cupped his hand over the window and peered inside. A bald man in a stained white apron knelt behind a glass counter, adjusting one of the jars inside.  
  
“He’s open,” someone said. Poison jumped and turned around. A middle-aged man with heavy eyebrows and grey-streaked hair stood behind him, pointing to the building and nodding.  
  
“Oh!” Poison said. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
The man nodded and continued on his way.  
  
A bell tinkled when Poison pushed open the door, and he smiled to himself. The floors were laid with scuffed black-and-white tile. A few tiles had been pried away, leaving rough grainy patches. Three hard-backed chairs sat in front of the shop window beside an empty gumball machine. Three locked wooden cabinets stood along the right wall, one with a glass door that revealed tin and cardboard boxes of bandages, a few rolls of gauze, small bottles of antibacterial soap, and boxes and packages of tissue.  
  
In front of Poison stood a long glass counter with a smudged white countertop. Inside the counter were small boxes, wrapped packages, plastic containers, and tiny bottles. Some wore faded labels from the old days, some wore the Better Living logo, and some wore Killjoy stamps or scribbled handwriting. Each item was carefully lined up and arranged. There was a set of goggles, four pairs of latex gloves, bags of cotton balls, three surgical masks, four sets of tweezers, two tiny pairs of scissors, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, six thermometers in a tin can, two boxes of cotton swabs, three flashlights, a lighter, a stack of torn fabric squares, three rolls of tape, six tiny bottles of shampoo, two large bottles of shampoo, six boxes of toothpaste, a can full of multicolored toothbrushes, boxes of Battery City soap, lumps of homemade Zone soap, a folded apron, and a folded blanket.  
  
Behind the counter was a row of glass shelves lined up against the wall. Inside were dozens of small bottles filled with liquids and pills of every size and color: white, blue, yellow, pink, green, red, round, cylindrical, liquid-filled, powder-filled, and solid. Beneath the bottles were three boxes filled with small plastic packages that contained two pills each. The boxes read _BL/ind SAMPLE PACKS._ There were also tubs of ointment, bottles of gel and cream, and suntan lotion. The last two shelves were lined with plastic hypodermic needles. Poison saw the thin pointy tips, imagined them pricking his flesh, and shuddered and stepped away.  
  
The man behind the counter slid the back door closed and locked it, reattached the keyring to his belt, and stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Good morning, sir,” he said automatically, then froze. “Wait. Are you one of those rebels?”  
  
“Yes, I am,” Poison said. He tried to flash a friendly smile. “Party Poison. I thought I’d check out your shop while waiting for the market to open.” He walked up to the man and held his hand out to shake. The man paused, seized his hand quickly, then folded his hands behind his back.  
  
“We don’t want any trouble, sir,” the man said.  
  
“Oh, I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need a few medical supplies. We’re running a bit low back at the diner.” Poison tried to sound friendly, but a frightened look crossed the man’s face.  
  
“This is a neutral town, sir.”  
  
“Oh yeah? I love neutral towns. Much more laid back, you know?”  
  
The man didn’t respond.  
  
Poison pursed his lips, then took off his sunglasses and smacked them against his open palm as he strolled up and down the counter.  
  
“That Zone soap looks good,” he said. “I love the stuff you guys make out here. So much softer than that grainy Battery City shit, you know? How do you want for it?”  
  
“Two carbons each, sir.”  
  
“Two carbons?” Poison’s heart sank, but he kept his tone upbeat. “Maybe I’ll come back for that. How about first-aid kits? We could always use another one fo those”  
  
“Twelve carbons, sir.”  
  
“Twelve? All right...” Poison put a hand on the counter and leaned forward, studying the contents inside. The last supplies he had bought came from a traveling store in a beat-up trailer tied to a pick-up truck that drove around the Zones. Whenever the trailer stopped by, he was lucky if he found a roll of gauze, a box of bandages, a rusty first-aid kit, and maybe a pill bottle or two.  
  
“Ah, man, this is great,” Poison said. “I’ve never been out here before. If I knew you guys had all these supplies, I’d swing by here more often.”  
  
The man didn’t respond.  
  
Poison drummed his fingertips on the counter and hummed to himself, then surveyed the pills along the back wall. The Better Living label on one of the plastic bottles stirred something in Poison’s memory. Jet’s metal lockbox contained a full bottle of aspirin, a half-full bottle of antibiotics, a quarter-full bottle of vitamins, and a dozen sleeping pills. But there was one pill that he didn’t have, one that Poison had hunted for in shops, trailers, and marketplaces for months. Few had come across them, and when they did, they either destroyed them or took them themselves.  
  
“Listen, uh,” Poison said in a lowered voice. “Do you have any, uh...antidepressants?”  
  
“Anti-depressants, sir?” The man sounded surprised.  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said without looking up, trying to keep his voice casual. “Not the hardcore mind-numbing shit. Just something to, uh...take the edge off, you know?”  
  
There was a pause. Poison straightened up and pushed the hair out of his face.  
  
The man unhooked the keyring from his belt and flipped through the keys, then unlocked the first glass case and removed three shiny silver cards. He laid them on the counter. Poison picked up the first square and held it up to his face, turning it around in his hands. It was a Better Living pill card with six round white pills, each housed in a tiny plastic bubble. The back was coated with shiny silver foil that read _BETTER LIVING IND. GRADE C ANTIDEPRESSANTS._ Two of the eight pills had been punched out.  
  
“That’s about a week’s dosage,” the man said. He picked up the remaining two cards. “With these, you’d have enough for about three weeks, not counting the two or three days it takes to kick in.”  
  
Poison nodded solemnly. “What are the side effects?” he said.  
  
“Don’t know. Hang on, I’ll get the manual.”  
  
He opened a door on the left wall and stuck his head inside. Through the doorway, Poison could see a filing cabinet stacked with papers and a wooden crate full of thick books.  
  
“Hey, Sherry, could you hand me the manual?” the man said.  
  
“You got it, Jim,” Sherry said in a scratchy voice. There were the sounds of rustling, drawers opening, and books being dropped onto a hard surface. Suddenly she said “Ah, here we go!”  
  
“Thanks, Sherry,” Jim said, taking a thick book from her. He started to walk away.  
  
“Close the door, will you?” she said.  
  
“Oh yeah. Sorry.” He carefully pushed the door closed, then returned to the counter and dropped the book on the countertop. It was as thick as a telephone book, with a glossy white cover that bore the Better Living logo and the words _BATTERY CITY DIAGNOSTIC AND TREATMENT MANUAL._ Several tabs stuck out from the pages. He flipped to a tab in the middle, frowned, then flipped to the next tab.  
  
“Here it is,” he said, pointing to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “ _Dry mouth, mild fatigue, and occasional headaches._ Nothing too harmful.”  
  
“That’s it?” Poison said.  
  
“That’s it.”  
  
Poison studied the card in his hand, tilting it so that the foil caught the light.  
  
“Are these safe?” Poison said. “Have they been tested?”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve got a few people out here who take them pretty regularly. Arranged a deal with the city, I think.”  
  
Poison nodded. “How much?” he said.  
  
“Fifteen carbons for the whole set. Five for one card.”  
  
Poison hesitated, then set the card down on the counter and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He counted eighteen carbons. Enough for a tank and a half of gas, or a week’s worth of food.  
  
“Are you interested, sir?” Jim said.


	3. Chapter 3

“Just keep going straight,” Sunny said, rummaging around in her purse.  
  
“Are you sure?” Kobra said.  
  
“Yep. You’re almost there.” She pulled out a tube of red lipstick, popped off the cap, and smeared it across her mouth. Suddenly her transmitter buzzed, and Kobra jumped in his seat. She capped the lipstick, dropped it back in her purse, and pulled out the transmitter.  
  
“Hey, gal.” Malachi’s voice came through a rush of static. “You almost there?”  
  
“Yep,” she said. “Just putting my makeup on now.”  
  
“Did all the eggs and stuff make it there okay?”  
  
“Hang on, I’ll check.” She knelt in front of the fridge, opened the door, and took out the cooler. She checked the bottles and jars, peered inside the egg cartons, and lifted the cloth to examine the cheese. “Yep, it’s fine,” she said. She shut the cooler and slid it back inside.  
  
“Thank the Lord. Didn’t need a repeat of last month. Call me when you get there, all right?”  
  
“You bet.”  
  
“See you, gal.”  
  
“See you, Malachi.”  
  
She slipped the transmitter back in her purse, hitched the purse strap over her shoulder, and adjusted her sun hat.  
  
“You’re so quiet,” she said.  
  
Kobra laughed. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay. Are you always this quiet?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
  
“Even around your friends?”  
  
“Yeah. It drives them nuts.”  
  
“Wow. I don’t know how you can stand being quiet. Don’t you get bored?”  
  
“Nah, the guys talk enough for me.”  
  
“Who’s the guys?”  
  
“Oh, uh…my friends.”  
  
“Do they live around here?”  
  
“Nah, they live a few Zones away.”  
  
“What’s a Zone?”  
  
“You’ve never heard of the Zones?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Well, they’re, uh...they’re like dividing lines.” He drew a line in the air with his hand. “Originally they marked off the levels of radiation, but now they’re like different colonies. That’s the map we use, anyway. You guys probably use something else.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think we use Zones. We go by the old map, I think. So which Zone are we in?”  
  
“Zone Four.”  
  
“Where do your friends live?”  
  
“Zone One.”  
  
“Is that far?”  
  
“Oh yeah. Very far.”  
  
She started to say something else, but she suddenly pointed at the windshield and said “Oh, look! We’re here!”  
  
Small square silhouettes started to appear on the horizon. As they approached, the structures grew larger and came into focus until they became a line of buildings stretching down the road, with a tall brick building on the right and a Dead Pegasus gas station on the left.  
  
Kobra glanced at the fuel meter. The tiny red hand was a flicker away from the E mark.  
  
“Do you mind if I get gas first?” he said.  
  
“That’s fine,” Sunny said, resting her chin on her hands.  
  
He pulled up to the first gas pump, then switched off the ignition and stepped outside. The yellow-and-white gas pumps were dusty, but clean enough that they seemed to be in use. The prices on the panels had been crossed out and rewritten several times in blue ink; the current price was _1 c/gallon._ A clean white Better Living vending machine stood next to the sidewalk in front of the store. No graffiti on the vending machine, he realized. This was probably another neutral town. If he had driven in with his red jacket and yellow helmet, he might have been chased out on sight.  
  
He had begun to unhook the nozzle when the door squeaked open and a woman ran out. She wore blue pants and a blue shirt with red-and-white stripes, and her dark red hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  
  
“Wait!” she said. “I’m sorry, sir, we’re out of gas!”  
  
Kobra froze, still holding the nozzle.  
  
She ran up to the pump, then bent over and rested her hands on her knees while she caught her breath. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. She straightened up and gripped the pump for support. “I completely forgot to put up the out-of-order signs. Here, let me take that.” She gestured to the nozzle, and Kobra handed it to her. Breathing heavily, she re-hooked it to the pump.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “We should be up and running again in a couple of days. We’re waiting on a shipment from St. Andrew’s.”  
  
“Oh, oka—wait, how long?”  
  
“A couple of days, give or take. I’m sorry. Do you have anywhere you need to be?”  
  
He sighed, rubbed his face with his hand, and shook his head. “No, uh…I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
He nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“Okay...well, you can park behind that building over there.” She pointed to the brick building across the street. “We’ve got a hotel down the road, but I guess you’re all set with that camper, huh?”  
  
He smiled a little and nodded. “Yeah, I am.”  
  
She nodded. “Good. Well, check back with  us again in a couple of days, okay?”  
  
“Will do. Thank you.”  
  
She held out her hand, and he grasped it and shook it.  
  
“I’m Mary, by the way. What did you say your name was?”  
  
“Uh-- Michael. Michael James.”  
  
“Michael James. What a lovely name.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Well, see you around, Michael James.”  
  
She smiled at him, then patted the pump and headed back to the store. As soon as the door closed, Kobra stumbled back into the camper.  
  
“What did that woman say?” Sunny said, standing up and adjusting her purse.  
  
“They’re out of gas,” Kobra said hollowly. “We’re stuck here for two days.”  
  
“Two days? Aww, dangit…I was gonna spend Christmas with Malachi.”  
  
“What? It’s Christmas?”  
  
“Yeah, I was hoping to make it back tonight. But it’s fine, we can celebrate some other time.”  
  
He stared numbly at the couch, then sank into it, cradling his face in his hands.  
  
“No, it’s fine!” she said. “We had to celebrate on the 26th last year, ‘cause we were both sick. It’s fine. We’ll just have all the festivities on a different day.”  
  
“No, no, I—I should have gotten gas earlier. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Sunny said. Kobra laughed humorously.  
  
“What? Is something wrong?”  
  
“No, uh…” He shook his head in defeat and let his hands drop into his lap. “Yeah. Yeah, something is very wrong.”  
  
“What is it? Are you in trouble?”  
  
“No, I’m-- yeah. Jesus. I don’t know.” His eyes started to prick. _Goddammit, not now,_ he thought.  
  
“What’s going on?” she said, her voice rising. “Are you okay? Is someone after you?”  
  
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”  
  
She started to back away, her eyes wide. “Who is it? What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s just—it’s nothing. Forget it.”  
  
“It’s not nothing! Are the Keepers after you?”  
  
“The—the what?”  
  
“The Keepers! The guys from the city?”  
  
“The Dracs?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“The Peacekeepers. Those guys with the monster masks.”  
  
“Dracs? Is that what they’re called in the city?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Oh. Well, no. It’s not them.” He laughed humorlessly. “If it were, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”  
  
“Then who is it? Is it rebels?”  
  
“It’s—”  
  
Kobra took a deep breath and cradled his face in his hands.  
  
“Yes. Yes, it’s rebels.”  
  
She paled. “What?”  
  
“Look, they’re—they’re not going to hurt you.”  
  
“I don’t care! I can be around rebels! What if they try to kidnap me?”  
  
“They’re not going to kidnap you.”  
  
“They might! A bunch of Killjoys kidnapped a neutral six months ago!”  
  
“They’re not like that, okay? Those crazy fucks aren’t Killjoys.”  
  
“Then what are they?”  
  
“A bunch of psychos and murders! That’s not what real Killjoys are!”  
  
“What about their leader? He killed six hundred Keepers!”  
  
“Their leader—” Kobra gave a short laugh. “Their leader has not killed six hundred Keepers. That’s a rumor. Trust me.”  
  
“Then why are they after you? What do they want?”  
  
“It’s—it’s nothing.”  
  
“It’s not nothing! They’re going to kill you!”  
  
“They’re not going to kill me!”  
  
“You don’t know that! Why’d you come out here if you’re being tailed by Killjoys? Did you want to hurt people? Are you freaking stupid?”  
  
“Yes!” he said, his voice cracking. “Yes, _I’m fucking stupid!_ ”  
  
Sunny went silent. Kobra realized his eyes were wet, and wiped them on the back of his hand. Then he slouched forward and took a deep breath, his hands resting in his lap.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she said anxiously. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I--”  
  
“No, it’s fine,” he said quietly.  
  
“Are they going to hurt you?”  
  
“No,” he said. “They’re my friends. I, uh...I ran away a few weeks ago.”  
  
Her whole body seemed to deflate at his words. Her shoulders sunk, and her expression became one of heavy sadness.  
  
“But why?” she said.  
  
He shook his head. “It’s—it’s complicated.”  
  
She nodded solemnly.  
  
“But they’re not going to hurt you,” Kobra said, looking directly into her eyes. “I promise you. They’re decent guys.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure.”  
  
She nodded, drumming her fingertips together.  
  
Kobra sighed heavily, then gripped the armrest and pushed himself to his feet.  
  
“So, uh...d’you want to get going?” he said.   
  
“Are you gonna be okay?” she said.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”   
  
She nodded again, then dug in her purse for her transmitter while he headed for the driver’s seat.  
  
Sunny radioed Malachi while Kobra parked the camper behind the building across from the gas station. A dented green car sat in one of the parking spaces, next to a firey red car with chipped paint and mismatched wheels. Two bicycles were chained to the iron poles supporting the roof of the back porch. Green, brown, blue, and clear glass bottles were lined up along the edge of the porch, gleaming and casting colored shadows in the sunlight.  
  
Sunny tucked her transmitter back in her purse, then opened the fridge, carefully removed the box, and laid it on the table. The jars and bottles rattled inside. She opened the lid and rustled around inside.  
  
Kobra stood up from the driver’s seat, stretched his arms above his head, and placed his hands on his hips and leaned back until his back popped.  
  
Sunny laughed, bottle in hand. “Tired of sitting, huh?”  
  
Kobra smiled. “Yeah, it gets old after the first few hours.” He walked up to the table, placed his hands on the edge, and peered inside the box. The jars, bottles, and bowls were packed inside a foamy blue insulation. He looked up at Sunny quizzically.  
  
“It’s from the city,” Sunny said. “They came up with this squishy blue stuff that keeps your supplies cold. You just stick it in there and it molds around it. See?” She sunk her index finger into the foam.  
  
Kobra prodded the foam, then drew back from the coldness. An indention appeared where he had touched it. After a few moments, the foam had slowly resumed its shape.  
  
“Wow,” Kobra said. “That’s...wow.” He laughed. “That’s incredible. Where’d you get it?”  
  
“St. Andrew’s.” She sunk the bottle back into the foam, then closed and clasped the lid. “They’ve got everything there. The city sells ‘em old technology in exchange for the food they grow out there. Malachi and I go on a trip there once a year.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”  
  
“St. Andrew’s? Uh, it’s up north somewhere. Do you have a map?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, in the glove compartment--”  
  
“Malachi’ll show you when we get back. It’s a long drive. Almost two hours.”  
  
Kobra winced. “Two hours?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s a pain in the butt. Can you take this?” She handed him the folded metal cart.  
  
“Oh, yeah, sure.”  
  
While Sunny hefted the box down the steps, Kobra paused in front of the glove compartment. He opened it and reached into the back, and patted around until his hand closed on something flat. Acid flared in his stomach. He drew it out, slipped it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, closed the compartment, and stepped out of the camper, gripping the cart tightly so that she wouldn’t notice that his hands were shaking.  
  
"You okay there, bud?" Sunny said as he locked the door.  
  
"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. What should I--"  
  
"Just put it on the ground."  
  
He laid the cart on the ground. She unfolded it and pulled up the handle, dropped the box onto the cart, and tied it into place with the leather straps.  
  
"All right, where are we headed?" Kobra said.  
  
"The marketplace," she said, straightening up and brushing her hands off on her dress.  
  
Kobra shielded his eyes with his hand and gazed down the highway. "Where's that?"  
  
"Across town."  
  
He whipped around. " _Across town?_ How far is that?"  
  
She laughed. "Uh-huh. It's about a mile away. You want to get back in the RV?"  
  
"Is there another gas station here?"  
  
"Nope, just the one."  
  
He shook his head. "Nah...can't break down in the middle of town."  
  
"You want to wait in the RV for me to get back?"  
  
"How long do you think you’ll be?"  
  
"I dunno, maybe like four hours."  
  
He glanced at the camper. The CD player would use up gas, he hadn't glanced at the books, and the television had burned out long ago. For a moment he thought about popping one of the pills in the glove compartment and sleeping for the rest of the day, but the camper would bake in the afternoon heat.  
  
"Nah, I'll come with you."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah, that place turns into an oven in the daytime. I can walk.”  
  
"Okay!" She reached for the cart handle, then stopped. "Wait, you got a hat or something? You're going to burn, dude."  
  
"What?" He touched his hair. "Oh, yeah. Hang on."  
  
After Kobra had retrieved a baseball cap from underneath the bathroom cabinet, they set off down the road, the cart rattling and jiggling behind them.

\---

When Poison left the pharmacy, he found that the sky had grown cloudy and the temperature had dropped. He returned to the Trans Am to find a small crowd pointing and gesturing, running their fingers across the hood, and whispering excitedly. A girl in a blue tank top snapped a photo with a Polaroid camera, then took the picture that slid out and shook it back and forth until a picture started to form. When the crowd heard Poison's boots crunching on the sand, they glanced up, then gasped and stepped back.  
  
"It's him!" whispered a girl with leopard print sunglasses. "Look! It's him!"  
  
“Oh my God!” said the girl in the tank top. “Oh my God, I’ve always wanted to meet you! May I take your picture?  
  
Poison imagined himself pushing the girl out of the way, jumping into the driver's seat, and speeding off into the distance. But he rubbed his face with his hand and nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said with a forced smile. "Yeah, of course."  
  
The girl squealed. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, held the camera in front of them, and snapped a photo. Out of the corner of his eye, Poison saw a woman with blonde curly hair cross her arms, put a hand to her mouth, and turn away with a disgusted expression on her face.  
  
When the girl stepped away, a dark-haired teenage boy stuck his hand in Poison's face. "David Ackerson," he said. "Professional vegetable grower."  
  
Poison blinked, then seized his hand and shook it.  
  
"I've thought about becoming a Zone Runner one day," David said, still shaking Poison's hand. "Really sick of Better Living's shit, you know. Can you put in a good word for me with the boys back at the diner?"  
  
"Uh." Poison stifled a laugh. "Yeah. Sure."  
  
David clapped his shoulder. "Good man."  
  
After speaking to a few more people and autographing a leather jacket, the crowd finally dispersed and Poison climbed inside the Trans. He sank into the driver's seat and cradled his face in his hands, breathing hard. Then he pushed his hair out of his face, ran a hand through his hair, and shrugged off his jacket. He took off his red-and-black checkered bandana and his fingerless gloves and tucked them inside the glove compartment. Then he stepped out of the Trans, locked the door, and opened the trunk. He unlocked the metal lockbox. Still nothing but a tin of beans and a half-empty can of powdered milk. He sighed, closed the box, folded his jacket and laid it inside, and closed the trunk and locked it. Then he took a leather bag from the backseat and hung it over his shoulder.  
  
He followed the crowd meandering toward the market shack, his hands in his pockets and his head lowered. People with battered cars, bicycles, and even a horse were beginning to arrive, parking behind the shack and tying their bicycles to the chain-link fence that surrounded it. A few children ran up to the horse with their hands outstretched, begging to pet it. The rider, a scrawny girl with a duffel bag strapped to her back, smiled at the children and gestured for them to come forward.  
  
Inside was a vast open space with rusty silver walls and a dirt floor stamped with hundreds of footprints. The shack was crowded with people, some wearing elaborate and brightly-colored clothes, some wearing plain dresses and jeans, some wearing stitched-together rags, and a few wearing shabby but formal suits. Some had dyed or styled their hair, and others had tied it back or let it blow in the wind. They carried tables, chairs, blankets, backpacks, carts, boxes, bags, crates, and sacks. Some had come alone, and others had friends, children, or their entire family tagging along, pointing and chattering and running ahead.  
  
A man with bright red hair dropped a cardboard box of chunky brown things on a table heaped with vegetables. There were scrawny carrots, small soft tomatoes, a heap of pea pods, bruised yellow squash, dirt-stained beets, and hairy tubers tangled with roots. To the left was a table covered with a red-and-green striped blanket, bearing jars of preserved vegetables swimming in yellowish liquid. Poison's mouth watered as he eyed the ridged pickle slices floating with seeds and red chunks of pepper, the cucumber halves lined with seeds, the jumble of corn and carrots and beans, the spicy red peppers, and the chunky greenish-yellow relish.  
  
A dark-haired Asian woman took a small loaf of bread and a relish jar from a cardboard box on the table, then hacked off a slice of bread with a serrated knife. She unscrewed the lid of the relish jar, scooped out a glob of relish, smeared it on the bread, and laid the bread on a metal pan beside the jars. Poison's stomach growled. Without thinking, he fished his wallet out of his pocket and walked up to the woman.  
  
"How much is the bread, ma'am?" he said.  
  
"Half a carbon," she said, hacking off another piece of bread.  
  
"Half a carbon? All right..." He pulled out a silver coin and handed it to her. She didn't notice. He cleared his throat and she glanced up.  
  
"Oh," she said, taking the coin. She pushed the metal pan toward him and he picked up a slice.  
  
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. She nodded and dipped the knife into the relish jar.  
  
Sweet briny pickle taste flooded his mouth, with the thick, chunky texture and the tough stale bread. He gulped it down and eagerly tore off another piece with his teeth.  
  
 _Slow down, dude,_ Kobra said in his mind.  
  
 _I can’t slow down, I’m starving.  
  
I don’t care, man, you’re gonna choke.   
  
You ever been this hungry before?  
  
You ever tried actually tasting your food?  
_  
Poison chewed slowly as he strolled around the room. A woman in a bright patchwork dress stood next to a clothing rack lined with dresses made from what appeared to be tablecloths, bedsheets, pillow covers, and shower curtains. A tall man in a fedora stacked books on a table: dusty old tomes, paperbacks with the covers missing, worn hardbacks, and glossy novels from Battery City. A girl in a rainbow-striped skirt and leather sandals sat cross-legged next to a green blanket stretched out on the ground. Arranged on the blanket were plastic children’s toys, piles of rings and chain necklaces, an open suitcase packed with rolls of fabric, and a china lamp with a copper electric cord wrapped around it. A sizzling sound and the smell of cooked meat started to fill the shack. Everywhere Poison turned, there were clothes, cans and jars, vegetables, fabric, supplies, and trinkets for sale. Anticipation rose in his stomach, like he were a little boy at a shopping mall.  
  
He walked over to the vegetable table and ran his fingers across the tomatoes, then picked one up and lightly squeezed it. It was soft and mushy. He laid it back on the table, then picked up a carrot and squinted at it, turning it back and forth.  
  
“Excuse me, sir,” he said to the red-haired man, who was stacking a pile of turnips. “How much are the carrots?”  
  
“The carrots? Uh...two a carbon.”  
  
Poison nodded, then laid the carrot back on the pile. He placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. After a few minutes of deliberation, he bought four carrots, two beets, four potatoes, and a handful of pea pods. He smiled to himself as he walked away from the table, the heavy vegetables in the bag knocking against his hip.  
  
In the corner of the room, a bearded man in a striped shirt was fitting a shrub into a red plastic stand. He took from a cardboard box a winding ribbon made of different lengths of fabric sewn together. After draping it across the shrub, he took out three dusty red baubles and hung them on the branches. He topped the shrub with a carved wooden star, then stood back, folded his arms over his chest, and admired his work.  
  
When he saw Poison watching him, he smiled and waved in greeting. Poison smiled and waved back. But his stomach sank as he imagined sitting quietly in the diner with Ghoul and Jet, unwrapping their tiny gifts, saying nothing of the looming absence that hovered in their minds. Tucked away in his mattress were a bar of soap for Jet, a few cassette tapes for Ghoul, and a small military tin full of coffee grounds for Kobra. Whenever he lay down, the tin dug into his elbow, and pain seized his mind.  
  
Poison looked around for a distraction, then hurried over to a flower-patterned blanket spread over the ground. A young man with messy brown hair and stubble knelt beside the blanket, pulling a folded dress from a backpack and resting it on the blanket, which was piled with shirts, pants, jackets, and skirts.  
  
“Man, I love those jackets,” Poison said. “How much are they?”  
  
“Thanks,” the man said, pulling out another folded dress. “About nine carbons, give or take. That leather one’s nine and a half.”  
  
Poison nodded, then knelt down and started to look through the stack. A black studded leather jacket, a zippered dark blue jacket, a denim jacket covered with faded patches, a puffy green jacket, a red jacket with black trim--  
  
Poison’s stomach dropped. He slowly pulled the red jacket out of the pile and held it in front of his face. Sand was caught in the fabric and the square patch on the left sleeve was starting to peel off. But the jacket was still fire engine-red with black trim, black and white stripes on the sleeves, and the Kobra Kid logo patch on the right.  
  
“Where did you get this?” Poison said, his voice weak.  
  
The man looked up. “Oh, that? Got it from a traveling salesman. Probably an imitation, but it’s a damn good imitation, if you ask me.”  
  
Poison unzipped the inner pocket and reached inside. With a rush of horror, he felt a string of beads.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing? Don’t mess with the merch, man.”  
  
He closed his grip around the string and pulled out a bracelet with black wooden beads and a black cross. His eyes widened as he held it in his palm, acid churning in his stomach.  
  
“Hey, how’d you know that was in there?”  
  
Poison suddenly stood up, clutching the jacket to his chest, breathing hard. The man stood up and raised his hands in warning.  
  
“Woah, man, you can’t just take that.”  
  
“You can’t sell this,” Poison said, his voice hard.  
  
“Uh, yeah, dude, I can. I paid seven carbons for that shit. Hand it over.”  
  
“It’s my brother’s.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry, man, but I can’t give it away for free.”  
  
He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but Poison backed away, a threatening gleam in his eye.  
  
“Dude, come on, don’t be like that.”  
  
“You can’t sell this! It doesn’t belong to you!”  
  
“Look, just give me nine carbons and we’ll call it even.”  
  
“I don’t have nine carbons.”  
  
“Then how much do you have?”  
  
“What does it matter?”  
  
“What’s going on here?” A short woman in a bright yellow dress stormed over, glaring at Poison. “Is he arguing with you?” she said to the man.  
  
The man crossed his arms. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to pay for it. Says that’s his brother’s jacket.”  
  
“Well, not anymore. Just give him the money,” she said to Poison.  
  
“Hey, what’s going on over here?” The girl with the blue tank top suddenly strode over.  
  
“Step out of this, Becca!” the man said.  
  
“Is that Kobra’s jacket?” She tugged on the sleeve, making Poison step back. “Are you making him pay for Kobra’s jacket?”  
  
“Who the hell is Kobra?”  
  
“Kobra Kid! His brother! That’s Party Poison!”  
  
“That’s—wait, you’re Party Poison! You’re the one she’s always yapping about?”  
  
“Yeah, and that’s his brother’s jacket! Give it back!”  
  
“It’s not his brother’s anymore, it’s mine! I paid eight carbons for that shit!”  
  
“I don’t care how much he paid, you can’t sell him his brother’s jacket!”  
  
“That money could have paid for our dinner last night!” the woman in the yellow dress said. “We could have been eating meat, but no! Cold dried noodles for the fifth night in a row!”  
  
“This isn’t about your dinner, lady! This is about morals!”  
  
“He’s stealing from us!” the man said. “Is that moral, Becca? _Is that moral?_ ”  
  
“He’s not stealing, we’re giving it to him! Take it, Poison! Take the jacket!”  
  
“No, don’t take the jacket! You can’t take my fucking jacket!”  
  
“Don’t you curse at Party Poison! _Apologize to him!_ ”  
  
“Here!” Poison shouted, yanking his wallet out of his pocket. “Here! One...two...three...four...five...six.” He counted out the bills and threw them on the ground. “There. That’s all I have. That’s all I fucking have. Is that enough? Can I take—can I take my brother’s jacket now?”  
  
His voice started to crack.  
  
The man and the women stared at the bills on the ground. After a few moments of silence, the man bent over and started to pick them up.  
  
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah. That’s fine.”  
  
Poison nodded firmly.  
  
“I want to know--” He took a deep breath and squeezed the jacket. “I want to know where you got this.”  
  
“Uh...” The man folded the bills and stuffed them in his back pocket. “A guy who was wandering around town last week. Said he’d bought it for his daughter, but she got sick, so he had to sell it to get medicine. I thought it looked pretty cool, so I bought it from him.”  
  
Poison nodded again. “What did he look like?”  
  
“Uh...pretty shabby, I guess. No hair, walked with a stoop--” He bent over and mimed holding a cane. “Wearing a raggedy old shirt and jeans. Said he’d paid twelve carbons for the jacket.”  
  
“Where did he get it?”  
  
“No clue. I didn’t ask.”  
  
There was another long silence. Finally Becca spoke up.  
  
“Um... Poison?” she said. “Is...is Kobra okay?”  
  
Poison paused, gazing down at the jacket in his arms.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “He, uh…he disappeared a couple of months ago.”  
  
Her eyes welled up.  
  
“I’m sorry,” the man said, looking at Poison sympathetically. “I hope you find your brother, man.” The woman nodded.   
  
“Thank you,” Poison said. “And—thank you for the jacket.”  
  
“No problem, man.”  
  
He nodded at them in acknowledgement, pulled Becca into a quick hug, and turned and headed for the exit.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s like this huge shack, like the marketplace here, except it’s way nicer.” Sunny spread her arms out to indicate the size. “You’ll know it when you see it. There’s this sign out front that says _St. Andrew’s Trade Shop._ ”  
  
Kobra nodded.  
  
“When you first walk in, there’s a big shelf to your left with stacks of clothes. Mostly shirts, like that mouse one you’re wearing. They’ve got other stuff too, though. That’s where I got this dress.” She pinched the fabric.  
  
“Really? That red dress?”  
  
“Yeah, they get to wear red on special occasions. New Year’s, I think. It’s for good luck. Anyway, on your right, they’ve got shelves with canned and dried food. It’s pretty expensive, though. But we get some canned soup, and beans, and this grimy stuff called Power Pup--”  
  
“Power Pup? You eat that stuff?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s kind of gross. But it’s cheap.”  
  
“Did you know it’s dog food?”  
  
“ _What?_ Ew! Have you had it?”  
  
“Yeah, when we were desperate. It’s horrible.”  
  
“It is.” She shuddered. “I’m never touching that stuff again. But anyway, down the middle, they’ve got some technology, like this cooler. A lot of it is outdated, though. And supply stuff, like matches, fuel, bandages...they’ve got bottles of city water, too. It’s purified. And some medicine. And then a shelf with pots and pans and fence wire and tools and stuff like that.”  
  
Kobra nodded, lost in thought. If he told Sunny about Poison, Ghoul, and Jet, perhaps she could tell them about St. Andrew’s. Instead of trying to divide the last can of beans among all three of them, or stumbling around in the dark because they couldn’t afford to use up batteries or matches, or refusing a bandage and praying they didn’t get infected, they could stock up on food, water, fuel, and medicine, and know that their future was secure.  
  
“You should go sometime,” Sunny said. “Well worth the drive.”  
  
“Yeah, it sounds like it. And they sell to Killjoys?”  
  
“What? Oh, no. Won’t even let them inside. You have to be a registered neutral or a city supporter to get in.”  
  
Kobra’s shoulders sunk and he sighed. The images of a full storage room fled his mind, replaced with Jet cutting an antibiotic pill into fourths and Poison licking the lid of a Power Pup can. _  
  
_ “But you can still get in, if you’re registered. Just don’t tell them that your friends are rebels.  
They’ll kick you out if they find out.”  
  
He nodded, wracking his brain for any neutrals he knew. _Chow Mein? He sells to Killjoys, though, dammit. Uh...how about--  
  
_ “Hey, look! The sun’s finally going away.”  
  
Sunny pointed up at the sky, where heavy grey clouds were forming, blocking out the sun. A cool breeze started to pick up, gently blowing Kobra’s hair.  
  
“Looks like it’s going to rain,” Kobra said, shielding his eyes and squinting up at the sky.  
  
“Yeah. Well, we’re almost there. Better hurry up before it starts pouring.”  
  
They had reached the string of shacks on the outskirts of the town. Some people were pulling on jackets and scarves and heading back into their shacks, while others continued down the road, carrying boxes, baskets, and sacks. The crowd grew thicker until they reached a wide tin shack, which was surrounded by people, bicycles, and beat-up cars.  
  
“Here it is!” Sunny said. An Asian woman carrying a cardboard box full of jars stumbled toward the entrance. She gave a quick wave to Sunny, who smiled and waved back.  
  
A few people stared at Kobra as they weaved through the crowd. A middle-aged woman whispered “Doesn’t he look familiar?” to her friend as they walked past.  
  
“Do these people know you?” Sunny said.  
  
“No, uh-- I used to be pretty famous in some of the Zones. One and Two, mostly.”  
  
“You were? What’d you do?”  
  
He gave a short laugh. “I’m just famous. Not sure myself, really.”  
  
She glanced around the crowd. “What if someone recognizes you?”  
  
“They recognize me everywhere I go. Just have to keep moving.”  
  
She nodded. “You should push your cap down.” She reached out to the brim of his cap, but he flinched and jumped back, his hand darting to the gun in his waistband.  
  
“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, lowering his hand. “Sorry. Zone instinct.”  
  
A few minutes later, Sunny led him to a spot in the corner of the shack, where she parked the cart and opened the cooler. She pulled out a cardboard sign and leaned it against the front of the cooler. The sign read in loopy, scrawling letters:  
  
 _FARM-FRESH FOOD!!!  
  
EGGS: 2c/each  
MILK: 3c/bottle  
WATER: 1c/jar  
BUTTER: 3c/jar  
CHEESE: 2c/oz.  
  
_ “All set up?” Kobra said.  
  
“Yup. Now we just wait for customers.”  
  
Kobra stood beside the cart for a few minutes, swaying back and forth or fidgeting with his hands. How long would he have to stand there?  
  
“You can walk around, if you want,” Sunny said. “All I’ve gotta do is stand here and hand people their stuff.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll have plenty of company when the customers show up. Oh wait, hang on-- which one do you want?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“For driving me here. What do you want in return?”  
  
“Oh. Uh...” He leaned over the cooler. The creamy coolness of the contents made his mouth water. “How about the milk?”  
  
“You want the milk? Okay.” She picked up one of the bottles and handed it to him. He almost laughed at the thought of him walking around and swigging the bottle like a drunk.  
  
“Oh, no, not now. I’ll drink it later.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah. Thank you.”  
  
“You betcha.”  
  
He surveyed the room, looking for something to do. Then he spotted the Asian woman, who was struggling to lift a cardboard box up onto a table.  
  
“I’ll see you later,” he said to Sunny.  
  
“See you.”  
  
“Need some help, ma’am?” he said as he hurried over. He crouched down and placed one hand beneath the box and the other on the side, wincing at the heavy weight, then pushed upwards until they hefted it onto the table. Jars clattered around inside as it hit the table with a thump.  
  
“Thank you,” the woman said distractedly. She pushed back the flaps and pulling out jars full of greenish-yellowish liquid. The heavy vegetables swimming and clunking inside made Kobra’s stomach growl.  
  
“Can you get that other box?” she said as she arranged the jars on the table.   
  
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He knelt beside it, gripped the bottom, and gritted his teeth, expecting it to be heavy, but the box lifted with ease. He slid it onto the table, then wiped his hands on his jeans.  
  
“Do you need any more help?”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
He nodded, then approached a woman in a rainbow-colored skirt who was struggling to unroll a blanket.  
  
After about ten minutes, most of the vendors had set up their makeshift shops. The crowd steadily trickled in, wearing hats, long-sleeved shirts, scarves, and jackets. A cold breeze blew through the entrance, making Kobra shiver. He tucked his hands inside his sleeves and wrapped his arms around his waist as he studied a chipped crystal plate resting on a shelf. He vaguely remembered a green crystal dish from his childhood, resting on a coffee table and full of black-and-white wrapped sweets...  
  
Suddenly he noticed that the seller, a tall woman in a fuzzy green sweater, was staring anxiously at the entrance. He glanced up, then jumped back, his heart pounding. A man with bright red hair and sunglasses had entered the shack, clutching a leather bag. No way it was him, it had to be a coincidence-- but then he noticed the way the man swayed his hips as he walked, and the distinct beaming smile he flashed at a passerby.  
  
“Are you okay, sir?” the woman said, wringing her hands. Kobra nodded, then dashed over to a shelf that faced the entrance. He quickly surveyed the room, breathing hard. The back entrance was too crowded to push through, and Poison might see him running through the shack. He steadied himself, then slowly peered behind the shelf. Poison was nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Kid, what are you doing?”  
  
Kobra cried out, then clamped his hands over his mouth. A burly man stood in front of him, wiping his hands on a towel. Kobra darted over to another booth and crouched down behind a table stacked with clothes. While the seller spoke with a customer, Kobra scanned the back wall, looking for some kind of exit. Then he saw it: a serrated tin door next to a Better Living vending machine. He peered over the table and searched the crowd. Poison stood in front of a table laden with vegetables, running his fingers across the carrots. He took a deep breath, then jumped to his feet, hurried over to the door, wrenched it open, and slipped inside.  
  
For a moment, the room appeared to be pitch black except for the light filtering in around the doorway. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the room was filled with cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly along the walls.Kobra huddled in the corner among the boxes, his heart pounding. He watched the doorway closely, tensing up whenever a shadow passed. Maybe someone had saw him slip in. They could burst in any minute, drag him out by the collar of his shirt, and throw him face first into the road. Or they might just scream from fright until he ran out into the highway and was hit by a car. Or Poison himself might burst in. He would be shocked at first, then his whole body would shake as he seethed with rage.   
  
But half an hour passed without event. Kobra took a deep breath and leaned his head against the wall. He imagined himself stepping out of the closet, finding Poison among the crowd, running up to him, and spilling his entire story. Poison would hug him, lecture him for running away, and then they would leave the shack and go back home to the diner, where Ghoul and Jet were awaiting his return. They would spend Christmas together. No more running from place to place, no more desperately searching for work, no more sleeping in a trailer, no more inner dialogues with his friends in his head.  
  
But Poison was buying vegetables, Kobra realized. Maybe he had heard about the market here. He imagined hurrying up to Poison, and Poison faking a smile, pretending to sigh with relief, asking “Where have you been, Kid?”  as he nervously turned a carrot around in his hands. He would put a hand on his back and lead him to the Trans Am, and they would drive back to the diner in silence, where Ghoul and Jet would greet them with strained smiles. Jet would take Poison aside when he thought Kobra wasn’t looking and ask him if he really thought this was a good idea. “He’s my brother,” Poison would say, but he would struggle to hide his frustration when Kobra fumbled with his words, or slept in late, or sagged from lack of energy, or turned from the food they gave him...

\---

Tires crunched as the beaten red pick-up truck pulled up to the diner, pulling a rusty trailer behind it. Kobra stood behind the counter, squeezing and wringing Poison’s _KEEP SMILING_ shirt in a bucket of soapy water. Poison burst out of the storage room, making Kobra jump. He hurried over to the window, cupped his hands around his face, and pressed his face to the glass.  
  
“Who is it?” Kobra said.  
  
"Jack!”  
  
"Really?" Kobra dropped the shirt into the bucket and squinted at the truck outside the window. “I thought we’d never see him again, man.”  
  
"He's probably been avoiding us."  
  
"I think he's been avoiding _you,_ dude."  
  
“I don’t know, Kid, I think you were the brains behind that operation.”  
  
"I was joking, dude," Kobra said as he pushed open the door. "I never told you to actually give it to him."  
  
"Hey, you can’t expect me to know when you’re joking or not.”  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, not with that cold, dead look you’ve always got. I was telling Ghoul the other day-- hey, listen to me, Kid-- I was telling Ghoul the other day that we could throw you a huge surprise party, and you'd walk in, and then just stand there, with this look on your face--"  
  
He stopped walking and pulled a blank, stoic expression. Kobra laughed.  
  
"Well, I smiled just now, didn't I?"  
  
"Doesn't count, man."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you're laughing at yourself."  
  
"Oh, so it has to be an _outside_ force."  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Kobra laughed.   
  
"What about that? Does that count?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Aww, why not?"  
  
"Because that was hurtful, man. You hurt my feelings."  
  
"Aww!"  
  
Poison grinned, then pulled a gold coin out of his jacket pocket. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger so that it glinted in the sunlight.  
  
"What is--" Kobra narrowed his eyes, then reached out and took it. "What is that? Is that real?"  
  
"Bite it and see."  
  
Kobra gave Poison a confused look, then held it up to his mouth and started to bite down. Expecting hardness, he pulled away when he felt the coin give.  
  
Poison burst out laughing and took it back. "It's chocolate, Kid. See?" He pointed to the tooth marks in the coin.  
  
"Oh. Oh, God. I thought it was real, man."  
  
Still laughing, Poison shook his head. "Nah. Pony gave it to me last week."  
  
"What are you doing with th-- wait, you’re not gonna try to sell it, are you?"  
  
"Yup. Think Jack can recognize real gold?"  
  
"Bad idea, man.”  
  
“Not if we make a few carbons off of it.”  
  
"You’re not gonna make _any_ carbons, dude. He's gonna take it, find out that it’s chocolate, and kick your ass."  
  
"Nah, he'll do this--" Poison suddenly fixed Kobra with an evil stare. Kobra burst out laughing, clapping his hands to his mouth.  
  
"There!" Kobra said. "There! Does that count?"  
  
Poison smiled and pocketed the coin.  
  
“Afternoon, Jack,” Poison shouted as they approached. Junkyard Jack stepped out of the truck and slammed the door. He ran a meaty hand through his thick black hair, then glared at Poison when he saw him.  
  
“You better not try anything today, Party,” he said.  
  
“Hey, what makes you think I’m here to try something? My brother and I are just here to examine your fine goods.”  
  
Kobra covered his mouth with his hand. Jack shook his head, then stomped off to the back of the trailer, dust clouding up around his work boots.  
  
“Oh wait, hang on-- I came across something the other day that you might be interested in,” Poison said, following him and pulling the coin out of his pocket. Kobra groaned.  
  
“I don’t wanna see it,” Jack said as he pulled a metal key ring off his belt loop and started flipping through the keys.  
  
“No, no, this is important!” He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a gold coin from an ancient pirate ship that was marooned on an oasis not far from here...” He theatrically swept his hand across the desert.  
  
“Kid, you better stop running your mouth.” He jammed the key in the slot and turned it.  
  
“Come on, man, you haven’t even looked at it! It’s real! See?” He held it up to the light. “Those tooth marks are from an ancient mariner who bit down on the coin while he was having surgery. That’s how they did it in the old days, back before anesthetic. Pretty nasty stuff, huh?”  
  
Poison grinned. Jack squinted at the coin, then yanked it out of Poison’s hand. He squinted and held it up to his face, then groaned and threw it at Poison. It bounced off his jacket and hit the ground. Poison picked it up and brushed the sand off it.  
  
“That’s chocolate, you little shit!”  
  
“It’s not chocolate!” Poison struggled to contain his laughter. “It’s covered with gold leaf because it was given to royalty to make them _think_ it was gold, when it was _actually_ made out of bronze...”  
  
Jack shook his head angrily and yanked open the trailer doors.  
  
“Come on, Jack, I’m serious!” Poison said, laughing. “Why won’t you take my coin?”  
  
“I don’t want your fucking coin, kid!”  
  
“It’s not just a coin! It’s a magic gold coin that turns to chocolate when it’s touched by guys that don’t appreciate real treasure!”  
  
Jack swatted it out of Poison’s hand. Poison let out a gasp of laughter, then stumbled to his knees and picked it up. He tried to stand, bent over from laughing too hard, then finally stood, straightened, and ran a hand through his hair, still giggling to himself.  
  
“Aww, man, you got sand on it!” Poison said.  
  
“Yeah, told you I didn’t want your fucking coin.”  
  
“Your loss, man.” Poison picked off the gold foil and took a bite. Kobra wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, then leaned forward and peered inside the trailer.  
  
The trailer was packed with shiny metal shelves, clear plastic crates, mesh wire racks, cardboard boxes, and a plastic bucket. The shelves were lined with dirty folded clothes, thin blankets, cans of food, a half-empty box of matchbooks, a few packages of Battery City batteries, three flashlights, a box of bandages, and two first aid kits. The wire racks held small bottles of shampoo, withered cakes of soap, and hairbrushes. Inside the crates were boxes of dried food, radio equipment, and pieces of scrap metal. The boxes contained cans of fuel. Inside the bucket was a jumble of books and magazines. Posters were tacked on the doors, one with a map of the Zones, one with a black-and-white photo of a nuclear bomb blast, and one with a chart that labeled the parts of a rocket.  
  
“The posters are new,” Jack said. “Got ‘em for free at a shop up north. Said they couldn’t get rid of them.”  
  
Poison nodded. “How much?”  
  
“One carbon each, two for the map.”  
  
“The map’s in good condition. I’d buy it if we didn’t already have one covered in pins and labels and shit.”  
   
Poison took another bite out of the coin, then held the rest out to Kobra. Kobra started to refuse, but Poison shook his head, wiped his mouth on his glove, and pressed the coin into Kobra’s palm.  
  
Poison climbed into the trailer, knelt in front of a crate, and started flipping through the boxes. Kobra stared at the piece of chocolate melting in his palm. He thought about tossing it into the sand. But a few days ago, he had passed out in the diner from hunger and sent Poison into a panic. He steadied himself, then took a bite.  
  
“Hey, you got bananas?” Poison held up a black-and-white box. Beneath the Better Living logo were the words _DRIED BANANAS.  
  
_ “Yeah, fresh from the city. Bought them from a neutral on the way over here.”  
  
“All right! And you’ve got cranberries, too-- hey, Kobra, come check this out!”  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Kobra and Poison walked back to the diner, Kobra with a fuzzy green blanket and a first-aid kit, Poison with five boxes tucked under his arm. After locking them away in the storage room, Kobra stepped back behind the counter, pulled out the bucket, and finished wringing Poison’s shirt. Then he dunked it in a bucket of clean water and clipped it on a white cord strung behind the counter to dry. A trough on the floor beneath the cord collected the dripping water.  
  
Poison sat at one of the booths, turning the dial on his transmitter. Bursts of words, music, and static filled the room. Eventually he stopped at one particular station and listened closely, frowning in thought.  
  
 _“Eleven Overville…Dash…Thirty-two…Julep One…Sixty-five…”_  
  
“Turn that off, man,” Kobra said, squeezing Jet’s faded black shirt. “It’s creepy.”   
  
He dropped Jet’s shirt in the bucket and waited for the argument.  
  
“Does it bother you?” Poison said, looking concerned.  
  
Kobra blinked. “What? No, it’s…it’s just creepy, dude.”  
  
Poison laughed. “You don’t like code words?”  
  
“Not when they’re read in a creepy android voice.”  
  
“All right, Kid, if it bothers you so much.” Poison smiled to himself and switched to a different station. Fuzzy rock music blared.  
  
Kobra rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. He squeezed the shirt, the water spurting between his fingers and trickling down his hands, then dunked the shirt in the cool, sudsy water. The water chilled his hands, and anxiety bubbled up in the back of his mind. He pulled his hands out and rubbed them on his jeans, then paused, breathing hard.  
  
“You okay, Kid?” Poison said.  
  
Kobra took a breath, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah. I’m fine.”  
  
Poison nodded, then started flipping through the stations again.  
  
Kobra plunged his hands back into the bucket and started wringing the shirt again. _“Eleven Overville…Dash…Thirty-two…”_ He dug his nails into the shirt and tried to focus on the DJ’s rambling voice that spewed from the transmitter.  
  
 _“--and it’s a bright, sunny day out here in the Zones, kids, except for me, Lucky Lucy, stuck here in this dark ol’ shack with no company except a few dead rats and a big box of records--_ ”  
  
 _“Eleven Overville…Dash…Thirty-two…”_ The cold, robotic voice brought to mind the horrors that lurked in his imagination: sterile white walls, liquid-tipped syringes, tables with leather straps…  
  
“Kobra?”  
  
A rush of panic seared through his mind. His heart raced and his hands shook as he staggered back from the bucket, his eyes darting around the room, searching for an escape. Too weak to run, he sank to the floor, clutching his face in his hands. Acid churned in his stomach as waves of terror engulfed him. He vaguely heard Poison’s footsteps thudding across the tile and behind the counter, calling his name. Then Poison knelt down in front of  him and roughly cupped his face in his hands.  
  
“Come on, calm down, kiddo, it’s okay, what’s wrong? What scared you? Was it the station? I’m sorry, Kid, I had no idea, you should have told me, I wouldn’t’ve turned it on--”  
  
Panic surged at the sight of his frightened expression. Kobra turned away and retched, spitting out clear acid on the tile.   
  
“Oh, shit, Kid--” Poison reached for his hand, but he automatically pulled away. He took deep breaths, willing himself not to retch again. He leaned weakly against the wall, his body feeling weak and shaky like it were made of jelly. Gradually his heart rate slowed and the waves of panic ceased.  
  
“Are you okay, Kid?” Poison said.   
  
Kobra weakly nodded.  
  
“What happened? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. I just…I just panicked for a second.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Was it that station?”  
  
“I don’t know. Yeah. I guess.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Kid, I had no idea--”  
  
“It’s fine, Poison.” Kobra rubbed his face with his hands, then let them fall down into his lap. Exhaustion consumed him.  
  
Poison nodded, then stood up. He took Kobra’s arm and helped pull him to his feet. Kobra started toward the wash bucket, but Poison placed a hand on his back and guided him to the door behind the counter.  
  
“Go lie down for a while, kiddo,” he said. “I’ll finish the laundry.”  
  
Poison and Kobra slept on stained mattresses that lay next to the west wall in the kitchen. An old rusty stove, a steel griddle, and a counter with small compartments for condiments stood along the adjacent walls. Kobra lay down on his mattress, folded his arms over his stomach, and closed his eyes. Poison left the door open, and he could hear the sounds of fabric squishing, water sloshing and dripping, and footsteps on tile. Kobra covered his face with his hands, feeling like a little boy in trouble who was waiting for his father to get home.  
  
Half an hour later, tires crunched and doors slammed outside. Kobra tensed, feeling the familiar tinge of panic.  
  
A moment later, the door bell tinkled and heavy boots thudded inside. The door slammed, then there was a scuffle and a thud as the boots were pushed off and kicked aside.  
  
“Hey, man,” Ghoul said. “Is that Junkyard Jack out there?”  
  
A squish, and water dripped into a bucket. “Yeah, that’s him.”  
  
“Really? No shit! I thought he was gone for good.”  
  
A forced laugh. “Yeah, so did we.”  
  
“So did you get anything?”  
  
“Yeah, uh...we got a blanket and a first aid kit, and-- _oh_ , shit, man, you’re not gonna believe what he had. Come on, look at this.” There was a splash as the shirt was dropped into the bucket, and hurried footsteps as their voices faded out of range. A few minutes later, their voices and footsteps increased in volume as they walked back to the counter. The shirt was fished out of the bucket and squished.  
  
“Yeah, I know!” Poison said. “I haven’t had a banana since like...five years ago.”  
  
“Yeah. They’re not real, though, are they? They’re dried?”  
  
“Dried, yeah. But they were real before the city froze ‘em.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s true. Well, close enough, right? Hey, did you pick up the fuel today?”  
  
A splash.  
  
“Oh, _shit,_ no, man, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“What? We needed that fuel today, dude!”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry, I totally forgot about it-- oh man, I’d better call him, tell him we’re not gonna make it.”  
  
Poison swished past the doorway. A moment later, there was a scraping as he picked his transmitter off the table.  
  
“Why didn’t you get it? Didn’t Kobra remind you?”  
  
“No, uh…no. He didn’t.”  
  
“Why not? Wait, where _is_ he?”  
  
“He’s lying down.”  
  
“Why? Is he sick?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then what’s wrong with him?”  
  
No response. Poison fiddled with the transmitter.  
  
“Don’t tell me it was another attack.”  
  
No response.  
  
“What? It was a another attack, wasn’t it?”  
  
No response.  
  
“It was, wasn’t it.”  
  
Poison set the transmitter down and took a deep breath.  
  
“Oh my God, _again?_ Goddammit, I _knew_ it when I walked in and saw you doing the laundry...what set it off this time?”  
  
“A station scared him.”  
  
“A station scared him? What, did it play creepy music? Some radio horror show shit?”  
  
“No, uh...it was one of those code stations.”  
  
“A code station? How the hell did that scare him?”  
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
“So a fucking code station set him off-- what’s it going to be next? Are we going to have to tiptoe around him for the rest of our lives?”   
  
“Stop it, Ghoul.”  
  
“No! No, I’m not going to stop! You say that every time, and I’ve held my tongue _every fucking time,_ but now-- no. This has to fucking end, dude. He’s becoming a liability.”   
  
“No, he’s not! Look, he just got scared for a few minutes, it’s normal!”  
  
“It’s not fucking normal! Where does it end, Poison? Huh? What if we’re in the middle of a mission and he just falls apart? Will you accept that it’s a fucking problem _then_? Or maybe if he gets himself shot. Will you accept it _then_ , Poison? Or what if he gets himself killed? What if he gets us all killed? Huh? _Will you accept that it’s a fucking problem TH_ \--”  
  
 _“STOP IT!”_ Poison choked out. He slammed his fists on the table. _“Stop it! Fucking stop it!_ Don’t you ever fucking say that again! He is not a fucking liability, and if you ever say that shit again, I swear to God that I’ll-- I’ll-- oh God--”  
  
Poison sank back into the booth and sobbed.  
  
There was a long pause, then a shuffling sound as Ghoul slid into the booth across from Poison. He waited until Poison’s sobs had subsided, then began to speak.  
  
“Look, man,” he began in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. I love that kid, you know that.”  
  
No response.  
  
“But listen-- we know this can’t keep happening. Not just for us, but for him. He’s not well, Poison. And right now, he’s--” A pause. “I’m sorry, man, but he’s basically dead weight. And I know he doesn’t want to be this way. He needs help.”  
  
Poison sniffled loudly, then coughed. Kobra held his breath, waiting for Poison’s response.  
  
“I know,” he said finally. “I know.”  
   
Kobra’s stomach sank. He covered his face with his hands.  
  
“Okay,” Ghoul said gently. “Well, are there any hospitals around here? Up in Scotston, maybe? We could drop him off there when we pick up our fuel.”  
  
“No, there’s one in, uh...Maryville, I think.”  
  
“That’s pretty far. What about Zone Two?”  
  
“Nah, nothing there, either. Just the one up in Zone Three.”  
  
“Well, we can’t afford to drive him up there…” Ghoul drummed his fingers against the table. “What about therapists?”  
  
“Nah, too expensive. I’ve asked around. They all want eight carbons a session.”  
  
“Damn, I figured that...how about medication? You think there’s some around here?”  
  
“Not around here, no. Heard there was some in Zone Four, but that was a month ago.”  
  
“Yeah, probably gone by now. Hey, did you ask Jack?”  
  
For the next hour, they discussed what to do with Kobra until he grew weary of listening and focused on the ceiling instead, studying every smudge and crack until their voices faded to a shapeless buzz. Eventually Jet returned from a supply run and joined in, and the trio of voices spoke all through the night.  
  
Finally, Poison stepped into the room. Kobra closed his eyes and lay still. He heard soft footsteps approaching, then felt the presence of Poison leaning over him. He tried to keep his eyes shut and breathe steadily. After a moment, he heard Poison step away, then the click and scrape of the steel cabinet beneath the counter being unlocked and opened. Poison pulled some clothes out, then started unbuckling his belt. His jeans and shirt fell to the ground with a _whump_. He pulled on another shirt, stored the dirty clothes in the cabinet, and quietly closed the door and locked it. Then he pushed his blanket aside and collapsed onto his mattress, sighing loudly.  
  
For the next half hour, Poison tossed and turned, occasionally muttering to himself. Eventually he settled down, his breathing slowed, and he began to quietly snore. Kobra opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Poison lay on his back, one arm flung across his face, the sheet tangled around him. His chest rose and fell steadily with each breath. Kobra watched him for a few moments, then gingerly sat up, careful not to let the bedsprings creak, swung his feet over the side, and stood up. He glanced at Poison, saw that he was still sleeping, and pulled out the necklace that he kept tucked beneath his shirt.   
  
Hanging from the necklace were five keys: two silver, one gold, and two bronze. Kobra flipped to the second silver key, then crept on his hands and knees over to the cabinet, slid the key in the lock, and clicked it open. He snuck another glance at Poison, then slowly opened the door, praying that it wouldn't creak. _Thank God,_ he thought when it opened silently. He reached inside and took out a bundle of clothes. Should he take his helmet, too? No, it would make noise and weigh him down. He pressed the door shut and locked it. With the clothes tucked under his arm, he crept back to his mattress, knelt down, and reached inside through a tear at the bottom. Wincing, he pushed and twisted his hand through the metal springs until he found a red plastic wallet. He pulled it out, then sat down on the floor, opened it, and counted the bills inside.  
  
Sixty-five carbons. The savings he had secretly accrued from working for Chow Mein, running errands, and selling goods that he had found. He pulled his leather wallet from his pocket and counted the bills. Eight carbons. He nodded to himself, jammed it back in his pocket, and slipped the red wallet into a pocket inside his jacket.  
  
Poison let out a loud snore. Kobra jumped and looked back, but his chest continued to rise and fall steadily. Guilt washed over Kobra as he studied him. Poison was sleeping peacefully, with no idea about what his brother was planning. He could put the clothes back in the cabinet, tuck the wallet back into his mattress, climb back into bed, and deal with the guys' plans the next morning. But Poison's frightened face appeared in his mind. The fear in his expression, the guilt and panic in his voice, the quiet resignation, the cautious way he spoke to Kobra, as if afraid that he would crack...  
  
He slid his ray gun out from beneath his pillow and tucked it in his holster. He unclipped his transmitter and laid it on his mattress. Then he stood up, picked up the bundle of clothes, wrapped them in his blanket, and took one final look at Poison. Then he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and headed out the door.  
  
From the storage room he took a frayed black backpack, into which he stuffed his clothes, two bottles of water, two tins of beans, and a can of ravioli. He added one of the kits that they each took when they left the diner: a white plastic box containing a matchbook, a lighter, bandages, a roll of gauze, batteries, and a backup transmitter. Kobra's had _KOBRA KID!_ written on it in large, childish scrawl.  
  
He walked up to the door and slipped his feet into his muddy boots, then reached out to push the door open. Suddenly he paused, remembering the tinkling bell attached to the door. He scanned the diner, then spotted the back door, tiptoed over, and slipped out.  
  
A cool breeze blew across his face when he stepped outside. The sky was deep blue and dotted with tiny white pinpricks, with dark hills silhouetted along the horizon. Kobra hitched the backpack over his shoulders, then crept along the side of the diner. He peered over the corner at Jack’s trailer. The doors were still flung open, and Jack was speaking to a short-haired woman who cradled a stack of boxes like a baby. Kobra snuck up to the Trans Am and crouched down behind it.  
  
While Jack and the woman talked, Kobra turned back to the diner. He could still sneak back in, return the food and supplies to the storage room, and collapse back down on his bed. If he left, he might never lie in a bed like that again. But Poison’s face floated into his mind once more. He shook his head, then turned back to the trailer with a determined look in his eye.  
  
The girl nodded and said something in a cheerful tone, then headed toward the road. Kobra tensed, fearing that she would walk past the Trans Am, but she turned in the opposite direction and walked until she was out of sight. Jack leaned against the front of the truck, crammed his hands in his pockets, and gazed up at the sky. Kobra’s eyes swept over the diner for the final time, trying to memorize every sign, structure, and brick. He placed a hand on the Trans’ door, feeling the cool metal beneath his palm. Then he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and slunk over to the back of the trailer.  
  
He paused when he reached the entrance and peered over the side, but Jack hadn’t moved. He bent over and placed his hands on the floor of the trailer, then crawled inside as quietly as he could. He climbed to the back and tucked himself into a corner behind a stack of cardboard boxes, then covered himself with a blanket that lay beside the pile.  
  
A few minutes later, heavy footsteps pounded outside. Kobra wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. The footsteps stopped at the trailer entrance. Then the doors slammed shut with a loud _clang_ , and Kobra was swallowed in darkness. He jerked up, his heart pounding, and clamped his hands to his mouth. He looked wildly around the trailer, searching for a source of light, but the darkness shrouded everything like a heavy blanket. Remembering the lighter, he reached back and patted around for the zipper on his backpack. But Ghoul had always warned him to never waste lighter fluid. He withdrew his hand.  
  
He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands. _It’s just darkness, man...it’s not going to hurt you...  
  
_ With a sudden jolt, the trailer started moving. Kobra lowered his hands and looked around, panic rising. The truck pulled out onto the road, its tires crunching on the pavement, and took off at what felt like fifty miles per hour. He had the sudden urge to pound on the trailer door and beg Jack to let him out, then run back to the diner and curl up in his safe bed and pretend that all this had never happened. In the cramped, dark space, being pulled further and further away from his home, the anxiety bubbled up in his mind, churning and frothing and growing until it threatened to explode. Nausea gripped him and his hands started to shake. He instinctively tried to fight it, but it pulsated beneath his defenses as acid burned in his stomach, making him want to gag.  
  
Why was he trying to fight this? he realized. What was the point? There was no more responsibility, no more putting on a show of normalcy in front of the guys. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. His raw, frayed nerves continued to burn, but instead of fighting, he sank back and let the feelings overwhelm him. It seemed to explode into a white heat of terror that seared through him, leaving him weak and empty.  
  
Eventually the acid stopped, the waves of panic slowed, and his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. He closed his eyes and listened to the goods shift and jiggle as the trailer bumped along the cracked, rocky road.   
  
Suddenly he realized that he hadn’t left a note. He groaned quietly, cursing himself. They would think he was kidnapped. They might even launch an investigation, and conduct interviews and send out frantic transmissions until they saw that he had taken his clothes and supplies and left without a struggle. _Of course. Hurt your brother one last time._  
  
In about six hours, Poison would rise and see that Kobra’s mattress was empty. He would stand up, stretch, and search around the diner, peeking in the bathrooms, the closet, the storage room, and the former prep area, before stepping outside and searching around the diner. When he didn’t find him, he would start to worry and wake up Jet, who would help search for him, pacing around the diner and calling his name. They’d try to get ahold of him by transmitter, but he wouldn’t respond. Then Ghoul would rise and hear the news, and he’d get into the Trans and search for him with a mixture of worry and anger, while Poison would radio different locations and see if they had heard from him...  
  
Kobra shook his head to clear his mind. After a few months, when they had started to move on with their lives, he would borrow someone else’s transmitter and let them know he was fine. No more would they have to tiptoe around, afraid of sparking a panic attack. Or hunt for medication. Or beg him to eat something. Or keep a nervous watch on him, expecting him to fall apart at any moment. They would be happy for the first time in months, knowing that he was safe but free from the burden of caring for him.  
  
He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Several hours later, the trailer suddenly jolted to a halt. The items shifted and bumped, and a few cans slid off the shelf and clattered onto the floor. Kobra quickly threw the blanket over himself and curled up into a ball.  
  
The doors opened with a loud shift and creak and thin light flooded the trailer. Kobra held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that he wouldn’t be spotted.  
  
“Goddammit,” Jack said. The trailer floor creaked as he stepped inside. There was the sound of cans scraping against metal as he picked them up and slid them back onto the shelf. Kobra heard a scrape, a push, and a _whump_ as he adjusted a few more items. Then he stepped out of the trailer, his boots hitting the ground with a thud. His footsteps grew louder as he walked along the side of the trailer, passing next to Kobra, and then continued on until they stopped near the front of the truck.  
  
Kobra took a deep breath, then lifted the blanket away from his face and peered out. Through the entrance he saw a row of shabby wooden buildings and a few gnarled shrubs, but no people. He needed to leave before customers started to arrive. He tossed the blanket back and crawled toward the entrance, careful not to let the floor creak. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to run, but he slowly lifted one hand and placed it down, then slowly shifted one leg forward, and repeated this until he reached the doorway. He gripped the edge of the floor, steadied himself, then pulled himself into a sitting position, pushed his legs over the edge, and jumped down.  
  
He stood across from a row of shacks made from slats of dark rotting wood, with sloppy pointed roofs and uneven porches. A water barrel sat next to one set of steps. In front of the shacks stretched a narrow road with tire tracks worn into the sand. Behind Kobra stood another row of shacks. Jack had parked in front of a wide wooden building with a signpost that read _COMMUNITY CENTER_ planted near the steps.  
  
Kobra inched toward the left trailer door, then hesitantly peered around. The driver’s seat door had been flung open, and Jack was leaning inside, digging around in what Kobra guessed was the glove compartment. Jack stepped back, holding a pack of cigarettes, and spotted Kobra. His eyes bulged and Kobra’s heart stopped.  
  
“Hey! _Hey!_ ”  
  
Kobra took off running, his heart racing, feet pounding against the sand. Terror pulsed through his body as he frantically scanned the area, looking for somewhere to hide, but he couldn’t change direction without losing speed. Jack’s pounding footsteps grew closer and closer, and just when he was nearly upon him, in a wild moment Kobra stopped and turned around, thinking that he could reason with Jack, talk it out, he raised his hands and started to explain--  
  
Jack’s fist collided with his jaw. Kobra was blinded for a second, the world spun and flipped around, and he hit the ground with a thud. Before he could react, Jack grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. Kobra swayed dizzily, his jaw throbbing, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Acid burned in his stomach, and he staggered around while Jack kept a firm grip on his forearm, fighting the urge to vomit or pass out or both.  
  
Jack shook him, his face red and flushed and sweaty. “What the hell were you doing, you little shit?” he said. “Thought you could steal my goods while I wasn’t looking?”  
  
“No!” Kobra said, reaching toward his holster. “No, no, I, uh, I snuck a ride in your trailer--”  
  
“You snuck a ride? _You snuck a ride?_ How many times do I have to tell you little Killjoys, _no fucking rides!_ ”  
  
“I know! I know! I’m sorry!” Kobra’s voice raised in pitch. “I can pay, I can pay, look, I’ve got, uh, thirty carbons--”  
  
“Thirty carbons? This isn’t a fucking taxi!”  
  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, please--”  
  
 _Yes!_ Kobra seized the handle of his gun. In one swift movement, he pulled it out and jammed the muzzle against Jack’s neck.  
  
Jack squeezed Kobra’s forearm so tightly that Kobra thought his bones would snap. He looked down at the gun, then looked back at Kobra, his eyes flashing with rage. Kobra stared back at him, sweaty hair hanging over his face, his eyes cold. Jack sneered at him, then released his arm and pushed him away. Kobra staggered back, but kept his gun pointing at Jack’s neck.  
  
After a few minutes, he slowly lowered his gun, but kept a tight grip on the handle. He pushed his hair out of his face with a shaking hand. Jack folded his beefy arms and regarded him with disgust.  
  
“You wanna tell me what the fuck just happened?” he said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kobra said. “I-I had to leave.”  
  
“Then take the fucking car!”  
  
“I couldn’t take their car, man. I’m leaving for good.”  
  
“Then tell one of your asshole friends to give you a ride!”  
  
“No, no, they-- they can’t know where I am.”  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, I can’t just let you walk away,” he said. “You owe me something.”  
  
“I know,” Kobra said, stepping back. “I can, uh...I can give you some money.”  
  
“How do I know you didn’t steal anything?”  
  
Kobra paused, then shrugged off his backpack and let it fall to the ground. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly knelt down, unzipped the backpack, and pulled out the cans, the box, the bottles, and the bundle. Jack picked up the backpack and dug around inside, then tossed it back on the ground. He opened the box, examined the labels on the cans, and finally pulled apart the bundle and sifted through the clothes.  
  
Suddenly a flat yellow thing slipped out of the bundle and landed on the sand. It must have been caught up in the other clothes when Kobra took them from the cabinet. Kobra’s heart stopped as he and Jack eyed it at the same time.  
  
“That’ll do,” Jack said, dropping the bundle and bending down to pick up Poison’s mask.  
  
“No!” Kobra’s hand darted out and snatched it out of his reach. Jack frowned and held out his hand.  
  
“Give me the mask.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Give me the fucking mask, kid.”  
  
“ _No._ ” Kobra shook his head, gripping his gun in one hand and the mask in the other.  
  
“You wanna play games? Go ahead, Kid, I’ve got all day.” He folded his arms.  
  
“You can...you can have my money,” Kobra said. “Or my food, or-- I don’t care. But you can’t have this.”  
  
To Kobra’s surprise, Jack nodded. “All right,” he said in a falsely casual voice. “All right. Then give me your jacket.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“It’s simple. If you won’t give me the mask, then give me your jacket.”  
  
“No, dude, I can’t give you this!”  
  
“Well, then give me the mask.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Look, Kid, it’s either the mask or the jacket. I could stand here all day, but I’ve got customers to attend to. What’s it gonna be?”  
  
Kobra studied the mask in his hand, the sunlight glinting off the blue sequins. Before he had time to think about it, he dropped the gun and the mask, shrugged off his jacket, and threw it at Jack’s feet.  
  
Jack smiled, picked it up, stretched it out by the sleeves, and examined it. A lump rose in Kobra’s throat.  
  
“Don’t ever hitch a ride in my trailer again, Kid,” he said. “Next time it’s gonna be your fucking head.”  
  
Kobra nodded numbly. Jack threw the jacket over his shoulder and walked back to his trailer.  
  
After Kobra crammed the box, clothes, bottles, and cans into the backpack, he gently laid the mask on top of the pile and zipped it shut. Dark purplish bruises were forming on his forearm. He staggered to his feet, slipped his gun back into his holster, shouldered his backpack, and headed for the community center.  
  
For the next two months, Kobra flitted from small town to small town, working for a week or two, saving carbons for food and gas, and moving on. He traded thirty carbons and his iconic yellow shirt for the RV, the cheapest vehicle for sale in the tiny wooden town. Recognized in every town, he kept moving as much as possible, knowing it was only a matter of time before they learned that he was missing and reported him. As he traveled through the Zones, he was recognized less and less often, especially when he discovered clusters of neutral towns. The blonde dye eventually washed out of his hair and he wore muted clothing. The only indication that he had once been a Killjoy was his bright red gun and the mask that he always kept nearby.  
  
He planned to travel far away enough that he could find a town and stay there. The farthest habitable Zone was Zone Seven, so he circled it on his map. Each week, he saved part of his savings, dreaming of the day when he could live peacefully in a tiny shack of his own.  
  
When he was busy pulling weeds, sorting seeds, placing orders, feeding animals, scooping manure, assisting mechanics and medics, filing papers, and shelving cans and books, he was content. But when he settled down into his trailer for the night, the familiar sadness started to creep in. When his employer told him he was done for the day, he frantically busied himself by plotting his next destination, wandering around the town, or sleeping. He felt a jolt of terror whenever he saw someone with red hair or a blue or black jacket, but also a hint of disappointment when he realized that it was a stranger. A few times he thought of turning back, but he changed his mind when Ghoul’s anger and Poison’s stressed face appeared in his mind.  
  
As the weeks passed, he felt increasingly listless and moody. Getting out of bed was an effort. He moved through the days in a dull haze, doing what he was told, speaking only when spoken to, eating small amounts of food without tasting it, and collapsing into bed at night. Finally, a woman who worked in a makeshift library said “You’re so withdrawn, child. Are you on the pills?”  
  
An idea started to form in his mind. There was no place for him out here. He was no longer a Killjoy but a drifter who wandered from one town to another, destined to live this pointless life until he died. In the city he would face punishment, but Killjoys who came willingly were given certain pardons. After a stint in prison, he would have steady work, regular meals, therapy and medication, a home. He would be out of Poison’s reach. No more panic, no more weariness, no more restless wandering.  
  
He decided then that he would find Cherri Cola, the ex-double agent, and get information on rejoining the city. The last he had heard, he was somewhere in Zone Five. So Kobra worked for a few more days, filled up the gas tank, bought a little food, and headed for Zone Five. Relief washed over him when he started out. But as he drove, worry began to take over. What if they tortured him? What if they executed him? What if they forced him to spill information on the guys? Panic rose inside him, and he knew that he had to park somewhere. He saw a building up ahead, so he swerved off the road, halted in what looked like a parking space, turned off the engine, and stumbled into bed, where he stayed until the motel owner’s daughter woke him the next morning.

\---

It felt like about half an hour had passed. Kobra shakily rose to his feet and crept toward the door, then slowly pushed it open and peered through the crack. He scanned the crowd, but saw no white jeans or flash of red hair. He carefully stepped out and pushed the door closed, then hurried over to a clothes rack and studied the crowd behind it. No one looked familiar. After a few minutes, he stepped out from behind the rack, looked around, then headed over to the corner where Sunny stood, talking to a wiry, green-haired man.  
  
“My brother and I tried raising a chick once, but we didn’t know what to do with it,” the man said, holding an egg in his left hand. “We’re more of the technical type than the nurturing type, you know?”  
  
“Anyone can raise chicks,” Sunny said. “I always had ‘em when I was a kid. My dad would buy me a few at the feed store, and they’d sit in my lap and follow me around the house.”  
  
“Aww! That’s so sweet!” He spotted Kobra. “Well, it looks like you’ve got another customer. I won’t keep you.”  
  
“Okay, bye, John!”  
  
He waved with his free hand and headed over to the vegetable table.  
  
“Where’d you go?” Sunny said, turning to Kobra. “I haven’t seen you for like, thirty minutes.”  
  
“Yeah, uh...have you seen a guy with red hair?”  
  
“What, like natural red, or dyed red, or--”  
  
“Dyed red. Like your dress.”  
  
“Uhh...yeah, I’ve seen a few. There was one guy who walked past a few minutes ago.”  
  
“What did he look like?”  
  
“I don’t know, kind of handsome? He had a yellow shirt, and his hair was cut really short, like this--” She held her hands up over ears.  
  
“Oh, that’s not him...have you seen anyone else?”  
  
“Uhh...oh yeah, there was a guy who just got into a fight with those people over there.”  
  
She pointed to a man and a teenage girl several yards away who were arguing back and forth. A few passing customers glared at them or shook their heads in disgust.  
  
“What did he look like?” Kobra said.  
  
“The guy? I don’t know, he was pretty far away. He had long hair, though. Really long.” She placed her hands at her shoulders.  
  
“And he fought with those people?”  
  
“Yeah, they got into a huge argument, and he ended up storming off.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I’m not sure, but he was holding this red jacket. I think he was going to steal it or something.”  
  
“A red jacket? The same color as his hair?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Did it have black trim? And white stripes on the sleeves?” Kobra ran a hand down his arm to indicate the stripes.  
  
“It was pretty far away, but...yeah, I think it had some black and white on it.”  
  
Realization washed over him. He went pale.  
  
“Are you okay?” Sunny said, looking concerned.  
  
“Yeah, I-- where is he now?”  
  
“I think he left. Walked out with the jacket.”  
  
Hot emotion welled up inside him. He staggered back and leaned against the wall, cradling his face in his hands.  
  
“Woah, are you okay?” she said and rushed over to him. “What happened? Did you know him?”  
  
Kobra didn’t respond. After a few moments, he lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around his waist. His eyes were red.  
  
“Yeah,” he said shakily. “Yeah, uh...that was my brother.”  
  
“Oh my goodness! Was he looking for you?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“How did he know you were here?”  
  
“I don’t think he did. Probably a coincidence.”  
  
“Wow...are you okay?”  
  
He nodded and looked up at the ceiling, cursing himself for being so quick to hide. He should have hidden behind a shelf or a rack and watched him for a while. That was probably the last time he’d ever see his brother. Maybe he could have even approached him and given him a real goodbye, and told him not to worry about him, everything would be fine...  
  
His shoulders started to shake, and Sunny reached out and put a hand on his shoulder as he silently wept.

\---

Snow fell from the sky in small white flakes that melted when they hit the windshield. Poison studied the names on the buildings he passed, hoping to find a motel. He needed a place to stay for a few days, and in this weather, it was too dangerous to sleep in his car. Maybe they would let him work to pay the bill. If not, he’d have to dip into his savings. But either way, he had to get a room and take some time to think. Call Ghoul and let him know that he’d be gone for another week. Go door-to-door and try to find the old salesman’s identity and location. His heart leaped with excitement. Finally, no more aimless searching! A real lead that would lead to the old man, which would lead to whoever found the jacket, which would lead to...  
  
 _Don’t get your hopes up, man,_ Kobra said in his mind.  
  
But his mind buzzed with possibilities. He wiped his eyes on the back of his gloved hand, then smiled down at Kobra’s jacket, which lay folded in the passenger’s seat.  
  
The snow fell thickly now, in great white clumps that coated the road and buildings. Poison turned the windshield wipers on. Through the snow he saw a word painted on the front of a tall building lined with windows. Poison narrowed his eyes. _Hot? Hostel?_ No-- _Hotel!_ Lights flickered and shadows passed in front of the windows, and a chubby woman in a dark sweater stood on the porch, leaning against the railing and smoking a cigarette. Poison pulled up in front of the building and placed the jacket and his supplies in his leather bag. Then he slipped on his own jacket, zipped it up, and stepped outside. He removed the metal lockbox from the trunk and placed it in his bag, then pushed his hair out of his face and surveyed the hotel. It was made of red brick, with white shutters and windowsills, glass double doors, and a faded white porch. Shivering, Poison hurried up the steps. The smoking woman nodded to him in acknowledgement, and he smiled and waved.  
  
The hotel hours had once been painted on the door in gold, but most of the paint had been scraped off. Poison caught a glimpse of himself in the glass, his breath fogging in the air and his wind-blown hair peppered with snow, before he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The wind immediately ceased, but a chill hung in the room.  
  
In front of him were a set of creaky wooden stairs, with three cushioned chairs sitting off to the right. The wooden legs were chipped, and the cushions had rips and murky stains. Along the right wall stood a large wooden desk covered with stacks of papers, folders, pens, and a silver bell. The chair behind it was empty. On the wall behind the desk were a handwritten list of rules and a set of shelves with rows of tiny compartments. Poison rang the bell, then tucked his hands in his pockets and read the rules while he waited.  
  
 _FAIRCHILD HOTEL RULES  
  
1\. NO RUNNING  
2\. NO LOUD TALKING OR SINGING  
3\. PAY UP FRONT  
4\. NO SMOKING INDOORS  
5\. **NO ANIMALS!!!**  
  
_ A harried-looking woman burst through the door behind the desk, clutching a black leather journal. She wore a plain black dress with a white lace collar, and had long frizzy curly hair tied back with a piece of white ribbon. She dropped the journal on the desk, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, reached under the desk and took out a pen, sighed, and looked up at Poison.  
  
“Sorry about that,” she said distractedly. “I guess you’re here for a room?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Poison said. “I’m looking to stay here, uh, about...three nights?”  
  
“How many?”  
  
“Three nights.”  
  
“Three?” She flipped open the journal to a page in the back that was covered with neat, boxy printing. “Name?”  
  
“Party Poison.”  
  
“Can I get your real name, sir?”  
  
“Uh...Gerard. Gerard W. Last name’s confidential, ma’am.”  
  
“Okay...” She wrote _GERARD W. (PARTY POISON)._ “That’ll be nine carbons, sir.”  
  
Poison winced. “Ooh, that’s expensive...is there any way I could work it off, ma’am?”  
  
She gave him an odd look. “Work it off?”  
  
“Yeah, do some odd jobs, file papers, help you clean up a little. Not that this place isn’t clean,” he added quickly. “Really nice place, actually. One of the nicest hotels I’ve ever been in. But I’m  a bit short on cash, y’know, so if there’s any way I could help out--”  
  
“Oh. No. No, thank you. I don’t have time to train a new employee.”  
  
“Oh. I see.” Poison hesitated, then pulled a plastic blue wallet from his bag and opened it. Fifty-six carbons. He counted out nine and handed them to her, tucked between his middle finger and forefinger.  
  
“Thank you, sir.” She took the bills, lined them up, tapped them on the desk, and wrote something beside his name in the book. Then she took a key from the shelf behind her desk and handed it to him.  
  
“Your room’s on the second floor,” she said. “Room 2E.”  
  
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, accepting the key. It was bronze with a stained white tag that read _2E._ The laminate on the tag was crinkled and warped.  
  
“Do you need help finding your room, sir?”  
  
He smiled at her. “Nah, I think I can manage.”  
  
She nodded, then tucked the carbons between the pages of the book, slammed the book shut, placed it under her arm, and marched back to the room behind the desk.  
  
Poison sighed as he dropped the wallet back into the bag, then hitched the bag over his shoulder and started up the steps. They creaked a little beneath his weight, and he gripped the railing as he walked. The walls were covered with white floral wallpaper that was stained and peeling in places, revealing the brick wall beneath. When he reached the second floor, he stepped out into a long hallway with a floral patterned carpet, light brown walls, and six wooden doors along each wall. The hallway was lit by flickering lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Poison walked to the end of the hall, found the room labeled _2E,_ and unlocked the door and stepped inside.  
  
The walls were covered with patterned wallpaper, and the floor was made of dark paneled wood. Arranged in the room were a wooden dresser with a cracked mirror, a kerosene lamp on the bedside table, a cushioned wooden chair, a small fireplace with a few crumbly logs, and a soft bed with white bedsheets and a thin pillow. He dropped his bag on the bed and sat down next to it, then bounced a little and smiled to himself. Then he stood up and pulled back the curtains on the window. Snow continued to fall in thick clumps, and the road, sidewalks, cars, and buildings were covered in a glittering white blanket. Poison glanced at the bag that held Kobra’s jacket, and hoped that Kobra had found a warmer replacement.  
  
He bent down and pulled out the first drawer on the bedside table. Inside was a Bible with a shiny black cover, a few wadded-up balls of newspaper, and a matchbook with ten matches inside. After building a fire in the fireplace, Poison sat down on the bed, unclipped his transmitter from his belt, and turned it to Ghoul’s frequency.  
  
“Hey, Ghoul?” he said.  
  
“Poison? Where are you?”  
  
“I’m in a hotel. Listen, I think I’m going to stay in this town for a few days.”  
  
“What? Did you break down?”  
  
“No, no, it’s good news, man. I got a lead on Kobra today.”  
  
“You’re kidding.”  
  
“Nope. Got a hot piece of information at the market.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What is it?”  
  
“You’re not gonna believe this-- this kid was selling a bunch of clothes, and I found his jacket.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“The red one? The Kobra Kid one?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Sure it’s not an imitation?”  
  
“His prayer beads were in the pocket.”  
  
“Wow. Holy shit, man. So where did it come from?”  
  
“He said it was from some old traveling salesman that came by last week. Bought it for his daughter or something.”  
  
“Wow. Man, it’s a good thing you checked out that marketplace.”  
  
“Yeah, I had a feeling.”  
  
“Well, search the hell out of the place, will you?”  
  
Poison laughed. “I will.”  
  
“Any other news?”  
  
“Nah, I just bought some vegetables at the market.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What kind?”  
  
“Uh...carrots, beets, potatoes, peas.”  
  
“Sounds like it’d make a good stew.”  
  
“Yeah, if I don’t eat them first.”  
  
Ghoul chuckled. “Yeah. Oh, by the way-- merry Christmas, man.”  
  
Poison froze. “What?”  
  
“Merry Christmas. It’s Christmas, dude.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Yeah. December 25th. You didn’t know?”  
  
“Holy shit, man, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine.”  
  
“I meant to be back by now, oh shit, I’m so sorry--”  
  
“It’s okay, dude. We’ll wait for you.”  
  
“I’ve got stuff for you guys in my mattress-- if you reach in through a slit in the side, there’s a bar of soap for Jet, and--”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, don’t tell me. We’ll open it when you get back.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure. We’re not gonna celebrate without you guys, dude.”  
  
There was a pause. Poison’s hand fidgeted in his lap.  
  
“So, uh-- get back as soon as possible, okay?” Ghoul said. “Hang on to those vegetables and we’ll make a Christmas stew.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said, nodding. “Sounds good, man.”  
  
“See you, Poison.”  
  
“Bye, Ghoul.”  
  
Poison clicked his transmitter off. He sat in silence for a moment, then hooked it back on his belt, pulled a leatherbound journal and a pencil out of his bag, and started writing furiously.


	6. Chapter 6

Kobra wiped his eyes with shaky hands, then tucked his hands inside his sleeves and folded his arms across his chest. His face was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery.  
  
“Is he all right?” said a passing elderly woman.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Sunny said. The woman nodded and continued on.  
  
“Do you wanna leave?” Sunny said.  
  
“No, uh...” He waved a hand dismissively. “Keep selling. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“I can come back tomorrow.”  
  
He shook his head. “It’s fine.”  
  
She frowned, then reached out to take his arm. He instinctively flinched. “Sorry!” she said, stepping back. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah, my stuff’s almost gone anyway. Come on. I saved the milk for you.”  
  
She stuffed the cardboard sign back in the cooler, closed the lid, seized the cart handle, and headed toward the entrance. Kobra followed her, weaving through the crowd with weak knees and a bowed head. A few people brushed against him, but he barely noticed. When they reached the entrance, Sunny pushed open the double doors and Kobra braced himself for the blinding sunlight.  
  
But they were met a with a grey sky and a curtain of steadily falling snow. Clumps of ice had formed on the undersides of vehicles, windshields were covered with a sheet of frost, wet snowy footprints were scattered around the entrance, and the roads and buildings were covered with snow. The horse wore a warm green blanket. Kobra stared at the falling snow in disbelief, then reached out a hand. Cold flakes fell onto his palm, became clear and crystalline, and melted and ran down his palm. He couldn’t help but smile. When he and Poison were children, it had once snowed so hard in the city that they bundled up and dashed outside to play behind their apartment complex. Much of the fallen snow was muddy and brown, but they scraped it up and mushed and patted it into a tiny snowman, with an empty Power Pup tin they found in the dumpster for a hat.  
  
“Woah,” Sunny said, her eyes wide. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to the RV.”  
  
Kobra laughed. “Do you want to stay here?”  
  
“Nah, we better get to that hotel down the road. We might have to stay the night, if this doesn’t let up. You got all your stuff from the RV, right?”  
  
“My clothes are in there.”  
  
“What? Oh, shoot, do you want to go back there later, or--”  
  
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I’ll get them later.”  
  
“Okay. Well, do you want to--”  
  
“Close the door already!!” someone shouted from behind them. Kobra jumped. They hurried outside and closed the doors behind them, then started to walk down the road.  
  
Kobra’s boots sank an inch into the snow with every step, crunching loudly and leaving icy bootprints behind.  Snow fell thick and fast on his head and shoulders, collecting on the brim of his cap. He zipped up his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself, but the cold air cut through his clothing and chilled him to the bone.  
  
Walking grew more difficult as the snow built up on the ground. Twice he stumbled on a hidden rock or root. The wind grew harsher and whipped around his face. After a few minutes, the snow was so deep that Sunny had to pick up the cooler and carry it, and Kobra followed with the icy cart tucked under his arm. The cold air froze his lungs and his joints began to feel weak and stiff. Just when he was about to suggest ducking into a nearby shack, they arrived at the cracked pavement road and series of old brick buildings.  
  
The ground beneath the snow became hard and even instead of rocky and bumpy, and they vehicles so covered with snow that they were almost indistinguishable. People in the shops stood in front of the store windows, gazing at the snow. A few waved at Kobra and Sunny as they passed. A few minutes later, they arrived at a tall building with glass double doors. Kobra breathed a sigh of relief as they trudged up the steps. He scraped his boots on a mat outside the door, took off his hat and knocked snow off the brim, and pushed open the doors and stepped inside.  
  
Sunny walked up to the front desk, dropped the cooler in front of it, and rang the bell. Kobra leaned the cart against the desk, then slipped his hands in his pockets and watched the snow fall outside. The gentle flakes and the glittering white snow were soothing when he wasn’t out in the middle of them. A snow-capped car slowly cruised down the road, its headlights shining bright, leaving slushy tire tracks in its wake. The vehicles parked in front of the hotel were caked in snow and frost. One of the cars was white with smears of dirt and sand-encrusted tires. The front of the car looked oddly familiar. Kobra leaned closer and narrowed his eyes. Through the curtain of snow, he could make out what appeared to be an American flag pattern on the side of the car...  
  
Kobra paled. He stepped away from the doorway, the familiar acid rising in his stomach.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sunny said.  
  
“He’s here.”  
  
“Who’s here? Your brother?”  
  
Kobra nodded numbly.  
  
The door behind the desk burst open and a woman with tied-back curly hair and baggy eyes hurried up to the desk. “Sorry, sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Are you here for a room?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sunny said quickly, taking off her purse and digging around inside it. “Two rooms, please.”  
  
“Okay...” The woman opened the journal and held her pen above the page. “Your names?”  
  
“Uh...Sunny Malone and...” She looked at Kobra questioningly.  
  
“Michael James,” he said.  
  
“Michael what?” the woman said.  
  
“James.”  
  
“Okay...” She wrote their names down in the book. “That’ll be six carbons, please.”  
  
Sunny pulled out her wallet and took out three bills. Kobra pulled three bills from his wallet and laid them on the desk. The woman counted them slowly, then flattened them with her palm, lined them up, and tapped them against the desk.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, turning to the shelf behind her. She removed two keys and handed them to Kobra and Sunny. “You’ll take Rooms 3C and 3F. Do you folks need help finding your rooms?”  
  
“No, I think we’ve got it,” Sunny said. Kobra nodded.  
  
“Okay. Have a good night.”  
  
“You too,” she said. Kobra raised a hand in thanks.  
  
Suddenly a woman in a puffy blue jacket, a dark blue knit cap, and a green scarf burst through the entrance. She placed a hand on her thigh and gasped for air. Kobra started toward her, but she shoved past him, plopped down into one of the chairs next to the stairwell, and squeezed herself tightly as she shivered.  
  
 _Bad omen,_ Kobra thought. He grabbed the cart and hurried off to the stairway. Sunny picked up the cooler and followed him.  
  
After saying goodbye to Sunny and giving her the cart, he located his room and stepped inside. A bed stood alongside the right wall, with a wooden headboard and white bedsheets spread over the thick mattress. A wooden table with a kerosene lamp sat beside it, with a curtained window above the table. Across from the bed was a fireplace with a small bronze clock nailed to the mantle. A dusty maroon rug sat on the floor, littered with brown and reddish stains. In the corner of the room sat a wooden chair with a torn, threadbare cushion.  
  
Kobra smiled as he slipped off his boots and hung his hat on the bedpost. The wood panels, dark colors, fireplace, and soft bed made the room feel like a cozy cottage, compared to years of sleeping on a stained mattress on the floor next to a cold steel grill. He laid down on the bed, rested his hands on his stomach, and closed his eyes. Weariness settled over his limbs. As the minutes passed, sleep started to creep in and heavy, nonsensical thoughts floated through his mind. _Poison would love this bed,_ he thought. _After sleeping on that creaky mattress--_  
  
But wait. Poison _did_ have a bed like this. He was in the same building. Maybe on the same floor. Maybe even in room 3E. Kobra’s eyes snapped open and he jolted awake.  
  
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Kobra jumped, his heart pounding.   
  
The knock came again. Kobra sat frozen on the bed, his mind racing. _Oh God, does he know I’m here? Did he see me come in? Maybe someone told him, maybe he’s been asking about  me, oh God--_  
  
Another knock. “Hello?” said a faint, childish voice.  
  
Kobra relaxed and he sighed with relief. _Oh, thank God, it’s just some kid._ He climbed out of bed and opened the door.  
  
A small girl with short brown hair and bare feet stood outside the door. “Hello,” she said.  
  
“Hello,” he said with a smile.  
  
“We’re having a Christmas party downstairs. Do you want to come?”  
  
Kobra blinked. “It’s Christmas?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Oh my God, I totally forgot--” He started to turn away to grab his shoes, but remembered the Trans Am parked outside. “No. I’m sorry. I’d love to come, but I’m, uh...I’m too tired.”  
  
She nodded. “Okay.” Without another word, she dashed over to the next door.  
  
Kobra closed the door, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He returned to the bed and pulled back the covers, then snuggled in, laid his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep.

\---

A faint knocking. Poison looked up from his journal. He closed it and laid it on the dresser, then stood and went to the door.  
  
A tiny girl stood outside. “Hello,” she said.  
  
“Well, hey there, kiddo,” Poison said.  
  
“We’re having a Christmas party downstairs. Do you want to come?”  
  
“A Christmas party, huh? Who’s gonna be there?”  
  
“People in the hotel.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Poison pretended to consider it for a moment. “Well, sure, I’d love to come. Just let me get my stuff, all right?”  
  
“All right.” She waited at the doorway while he snuffed the fire in the fireplace, slipped the journal and pen into his bag, slipped into his boots, hitched the bag over his shoulder, and slid the room key into his pocket. The last time he had stayed in a hotel, someone had broken into his room while he was out and stolen two shirts and thirty carbons, so he had learned to never leave his belongings behind.  
  
“Where to?” Poison said, smiling down at her.  
  
“This way.” She gestured for him to follow and skipped down the hallway. Poison followed her down the steps and back to the main lobby. A door on the left wall had been flung open. She gestured for him to follow her again and led him into the room.  
  
A fire crackled in the fireplace set into the front wall, with dusty gold-framed photographs, a wooden clock, a few green glass bottles, and a ceramic bowl perched on the mantle. In front of the fireplace were two wood-framed couches with carved legs and scratchy green flower-patterned cushions. Between the couches was a wooden table marred with scratches, chips, and stains. A rectangular wooden table sat against the right wall, flanked by two cushioned chairs. It held a vase with one artificial blue rose, and a shiny aluminum tray that displayed neatly layered rows of something crispy and brown.  
  
On the left wall stood a bookcase lined with dusty old books with embellished covers, leatherbound novels, thin paperbacks, and another Bible. Next to the bookcase was a framed painting of a young girl in a white dress sitting next to a bathtub, stirring the water with her pale hand. Pink rose petals floated in the bathwater. On the center table in the room was a wooden bowl full of small mushy tomatoes, a ceramic plate piled with puffy round balls of dough, a plastic jug of water, a half-full bottle of murky red wine, and two stacks of cups in various colors, shapes, and sizes.  
  
The room buzzed with laughter and conversation. People sprawled on the couch, sat cross-legged on a chair, paced around the room, and stood with food and drinks in their hands, sharing stories and jokes, gossiping about what they saw at the market, and listening solemnly to family news. A few people smiled and waved at Poison when he walked in. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting, then walked over to the table with the silver tray, picked up one of the crispy brown things, and took a bite. Grease and hot potato flavor flooded his mouth. Fried potatoes. He groaned and leaned his head back in pleasure, then crammed the rest in his mouth.  
  
Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, his mouth still full, to see Becca standing behind him. She wore a knitted brown sweater over her blue tank top.  
  
“Hi!” she said breathlessly. Poison smiled. “Um, can I talk to you for a moment?”  
  
He nodded, and she led him to a corner of the room.  
  
“I’m _so_ sorry about what happened earlier, Mr. Poison,” she said in a low voice. “If it were me, I would’ve given you that jacket on the spot.”  
  
Pain crept into Poison’s mind. He swallowed his food without really tasting it.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should’ve offered to pay him. y’know?”  
  
“No way, Poison, that was your _brother’s_ jacket! You had every right to take it!”  
  
Poison tried to smile. “Thank you,” he said weakly.  
  
“Anyway...” She reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. “I wanted to refund your money, if I ever saw you again.”  
  
She placed them in Poison’s hand and he smoothed out the bills. Six carbons.  
  
“Oh, no, no,” he said, holding them back out to her. “You don’t have to do this, really, it’s fine--”  
  
“No, no, take it! He shouldn’t’ve taken them from you in the first place!”  
  
“Are you sure? You don’t need it?”  
  
She looked him dead in the eye. “Not as much as you need that jacket.”  
  
He hesitated, then pulled his wallet out of his pocket and slipped the bills inside.  
  
“Thank you,” he said as he tucked it back into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”  
  
“Oh, no worries.”  
  
He nodded, then leaned in. “And listen, uh...do you know who gave him that jacket?”  
  
She shook her head. “It was just some guy who came to town one day with all this stuff in a wheelbarrow. He said he was trying to sell it because his daughter was sick. That’s where I got this bracelet.” She held up  her wrist and showed Poison a silver chain bracelet. “Apparently his daughter made it. It’s cute, right?”  
  
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, very cute. Did he say where he got it from?”  
  
“Well, I guess his daughter let him sell it--”  
  
“Oh, no, the jacket.”  
  
“Oh! No, he didn’t say.” She twisted the bracelet around her wrist.  
  
“Where did he come from? Do you know?”  
  
She shook her head. “No idea. But he came from out there--” she pointed north, “and the only thing out there for miles is a motel. So if you wanna find out, I suggest you go up there and ask him.”  
  
Possibilities started to form in Poison’s mind. His eyes flashed with excitement. “Thank you,” he said, seizing her hand in both of us. “Thank you, uh...what was your name?”  
  
“Becca.” She blushed.  
  
“Becca, right. Thank you so much, Becca.” He looked at her almost desperately. “You have no idea how much you’ve helped me today.”  
  
She clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled. “Oh my God! I can’t believe Party Poison just said that to me!”  
  
He laughed. “Right. It doesn’t happen too often, huh? Well, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He patted her shoulder.  
  
Still giggling, she nodded, then skipped away and started gossiping to a blonde-haired girl, who clapped her hands to her mouth and shrieked.  
  
Poison chuckled to himself. Full of hope and energy, he marched over to the main table and popped one of the balls of dough in his mouth. It was bready, soft, and slightly sweet. He smiled, then pulled a blue cup from the top of the stack and poured an inch of water from the jug.  
  
Sipping the clear water, he surveyed the room. It was full of people who had probably seen the old man. And if Kobra’s jacket were nearby, perhaps someone had even seen Kobra. After tipping the last drops of water into his mouth, he set the cup down on the table, then walked up to the giggly blonde girl, shook her hand and introduced himself, and began asking questions.  
  
For the next hour, Poison prowled the room, trying to siphon as much information as possible. Some shared all they knew, some had never heard of Kobra or the old man, a few eyed Poison with disgust and answered curtly, and one teenage boy almost fainted from excitement. After guiding the boy to a chair, Poison spotted a girl in a red dress sitting cross-legged on the couch, dangling one white slipper off her toe, talking to someone on her transmitter. After a minute, she clicked off and placed it back in her purse.  
  
“Excuse me,” Poison said. She looked up and smiled.  
  
“You look familiar,” she said, lifting up her black sunglasses to peer at him. She wrinkled her nose. “Have I seen you before?”  
  
“You might have,” Poison said, holding a hand out to shake. “I’m on a lot of posters, signs, some of them good, some of them not so good. I’m Party Poison.”  
  
She seized his hand and shook it. “I’m Sunny Malone. Are you from around here?”  
  
“Oh, no, I’m from Zone One. I’m out here on a mission.” He placed a hand on his hip. “Listen, uh...were you here last week when a traveling salesman came through?”  
  
She shook her head. “Afraid not, sir. I only come here once a month to sell my stuff.”  
  
He nodded. “Right. Well, have you heard of a Killjoy who goes by the name Kobra Kid?”  
  
She thought for a moment, then shook her head.  
  
“Really? You’ve never heard of him?”  
  
She shook her head. “Nope.”  
  
He placed a hand to his chest. “Have you heard of me?”  
  
She shook her head again. “Look familiar, though.”  
  
Poison looked at her oddly. “Well. Are you an inbetweener?”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“An inbetweener? A neutral? Someone who doesn’t take sides?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”  
  
He nodded. “That explains it. But listen, you might’ve seen him. He’s tall, blonde, skinny, usually wears jeans...”  
  
“I’ve met a lot of tall, blonde, skinny guys, sir.”  
  
Poison laughed. “Touché. But here, I’ve got his jacket--” He lifted up the flap on his bag, reached inside, and pulled out Kobra’s jacket. He held it up by the shoulders, turning it so she could see it from every angle.  
  
And then Poison saw something he hadn’t seen before: dawning recognition. She drew back slightly, and her face went still.  
  
“Have you seen it?” he said.  
  
“Um...” She struggled for a moment. “Um...yes. When you were in the market this morning.”  
  
Poison’s heart sank. “Oh. Oh, right.” He folded the jacket and slipped it back into his bag. “But-- have you seen him? Or heard about him? Anything at all?” Desperation crept into his voice.  
  
“I, uh...” She reached into the neckline of her dress and pulled out a gold cross necklace. She looked down at it for a moment, then squeezed the cross in her fist. “No, sir.”  
  
There was something unmistakably guilty about her tone, and her refusal to make eye contact. “Are you sure?” Poison said. “Have you seen a sign? Or a poster? Did someone tell you about him? Did you hear it on the radio, maybe?”  
  
She shook her head furiously.  
  
“Then what is it? What do you know?”  
  
“Nothing!”  
  
“You know something! I can tell!”  
  
She shrunk back into the couch and shook her head again.  
  
“Yes, you do! Stop it!” He placed one hand on the armrest and the other on the top of the couch and leaned over her. “What is it? _What do you know?_ ”  
  
She suddenly stood up, then shoved past him and darted out of the room. Poison ran after her, pushing through the crowd. Some people gasped, and a few stared in admiration.  
  
“He’s on a mission,” Becca whispered to her friend.  
  
Poison found Sunny at the foot of the stairs, about to run up the stairwell. “Wait!” he cried. “Wait! What do you know? Please!”  
  
“Nothing! I don’t know anything!” Poison reached out a hand toward her, but she smacked it away. Then she turned around and gasped.  
  
“I’m sorry!” she said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you. I just--”  
  
“What? What’s going on?”  
  
“I can’t tell you!”  
  
“Is he okay? Is he hurt?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Is he...is he dead?”  
  
“No! No, he’s not dead, he’s...” She flopped down onto the bottom step and cradled her head in her hands. After a minute, Poison sat down next to her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face on the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you.”  
  
“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s okay. Just tell me where he is.”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“Please! I have to know!”  
  
“I can’t tell you!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because he doesn’t want to be found!”  
  
Poison froze.  
  
“What?” he said softly.  
  
“He--” She took her sunglasses off. “He doesn’t want to be found.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I don’t know, sir.”  
  
“What has he told you?”  
  
“Not much, sir.”  
  
“When did you meet him?”  
  
“Today, sir. He gave me a ride to the market.”  
  
“Is he-- is he okay?”  
  
She pursed her lips and nodded.  
  
He sighed, bowed his head, and cradled his face in his hands. Tears welled up and streamed down his cheeks, but he made no move to stop them. Beside him, he heard Sunny sniffling, then murmuring what sounded like a prayer.   
  
When he had awoken and found Kobra’s bed empty except for his transmitter, he thought that Kobra had risen early, perhaps to prove his worth to the other men. He searched the rooms, calling his name, then stepped outside in the warm morning air and wandered around the diner, expecting to see Kobra leaning against a wall and smoking a cigarette. When he didn’t find him, he roused Ghoul and Jet, who joined him in searching every room and calling his name, their voices becoming more strained, angry, and frantic with every passing minute.  
  
 _If I find him, I’ll never say that shit about him again,_ Poison thought desperately. _I won’t make him take medication, or send him to that hospital, I’ll let him stay here with us, I’ll fight Ghoul if he argues, I swear, please let me find him, oh God..._  
  
Poison radioed everyone they knew, asking if they had seen him, but no one had. By now, the transmitter shook violently in Poison’s hands. He checked the storage room for the fifth time, and for the first time, noticed that a few supplies were gone. He staggered back to the kitchen, wrenched open the cabinet beneath the counter, and saw that only his clothes remained. He collapsed to his knees, clutched his face in his hands, and started to wail.  
  
They took turns scouring Zone One with Show Pony, but Kobra always remained one step ahead of them. Most hadn’t seen him, and those who had saw him days ago. They made frantic transmissions to other Zones and radio stations, begging them to spread the news. But word spread slowly, and by the time it reached a town, he was already gone.  
  
When he wasn’t traveling or forcing himself through the regular chores, Poison slept in Kobra’s bed. One night, he felt something hard digging into his shoulder. He patted around and felt something beneath the mattress. He examined it and found a slit in the bottom, just like the slit in his own mattress. He laughed before he could stop himself, then reached inside and pulled out a small black case. Inside the case was a colorful jumble of stubby colored pencils, thin markers, and half-empty pens. His Christmas gift. He burst out laughing, sick, hysterical laughter, until tears streamed down his face and he collapsed on the bed, clutching the case in one hand.  
  
When Poison wasn’t busy, his imagination ran wild. Sometimes he saw Kobra being dragged off by faceless, white-suited monsters, who tossed him in a cold prison cell and tortured him for hours. Other times he saw brightly-colored Killjoys snatching him away, and mocking and beating him and spitting in his face. Still other times he saw Kobra, with a cold, empty expression, take his clothes and his supplies and leave. Every situation ended with Kobra lying cold and still on a metal table or in a ditch. He clung to scraps of information and tried to piece together a story, but he was always left with a sloppy handful of threads and the horror of the unknown.  
  
Some days, he thought for a moment that he would see Kobra when he walked into the bedroom, sound asleep in his bed. Or standing outside, smoking and watching the sky. Or washing clothes behind the counter and hanging them up to dry. Then Kobra’s absence came crashing down on him, more raw and painful before, and he stopped what he was doing and stared hollowly at the place that Kobra used to be.  
  
Now Poison sniffled and wiped his face with his hands. “Please,” he said in a shaky voice. “I-I know he’s upset with us, but-- I have to know where he is, I have to talk to him, even if it’s only for a few minutes, just-- please.”  
  
Sunny didn’t respond. She stared down at her lap, clutching her cross.  
  
“Please,” he said. “He’s my brother, I can’t just leave him here, I’ve gotta make sure he’s okay. If he wants me to leave, I will, I’ve just gotta see him first. I have to talk to him. Please.”  
  
“He-- he doesn’t want to be found,” she said quietly.  
  
“I know, I know, but-- these past few weeks have been hell, not knowing where he is, if he’s sick or hurt, or-- I can’t stand it, I can’t stand being so close to him and not being able to see him, I have to know!”  
  
He looked at her desperately. She glanced up at him, then turned away, her mouth curling with guilt.  
  
“Please,” he said.


	7. Chapter 7

A faint knocking sound.  
  
Kobra shifted in bed and snuggled deeper into the covers. _There’s that kid again_ , he thought.  
  
Another knock, louder this time. It was too strong to be a child’s.  
  
Blinking, Kobra blearily sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes with his palm. He glanced at the clock. 5:12. He had been sleeping for about an hour and a half. He yawned and stretched, then pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed.  
  
Another knock. _I’m coming, I’m coming,_ Kobra thought.  
  
Suddenly he froze. He knew that knock. The gentle tapping, the height against the door...  
  
“Hello?” came the muffled voice from outside. “Kobra?”  
  
Panic, relief, and terror surged through him at once. He stood fixed on the spot, his eyes darting around the room. He could push open the window and try to climb down the wall. Or he could stay silent and let Poison think he had found the wrong room. Or he could climb into bed and hide under the covers. Or...  
  
Another knock, this one quicker and more impatient. “Kobra?” Poison sounded desperate. “Come on, man, please...”  
  
Kobra stepped back. That voice he had thought he’d never hear again, soft, scratchy, and high-pitched...  
  
Poison rapped on the door. “Come on, man, I know you’re in there. I’m sorry, Kid, I just...I want to talk to you. Please. Open the door.”  
  
Kobra cringed at the pain in Poison’s voice. But if he returned, it would all start again. The constant worrying and stress, fretting over him after his panic attacks, hunting for medication, watching in horror as he passed out after eating almost nothing for a week, carrying him to a bed and forcing food into his mouth...  
  
Poison pounded on the door. “Kid, come on! Stop it! What do I have to do, huh? I’m sorry, Kid, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want you to leave, none of us did...”  
  
Kobra closed his eyes.  
  
“Goddammit, Kid--” Poison broke off, his voice choked with sobs. “I can’t do this anymore, all the searching, the worrying, not knowing if you were dead or alive-- just open the fucking door, man, I promise things’ll be different, no one will make you take pills or send you to the nuthouse. Just open the door, man, please. Just open the fucking door.”  
  
Kobra squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out Poison’s voice, but memories started to slink into his mind.  
  
“Oh God-- I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to yell, just-- I love you, kiddo.” He sniffled loudly. “I do. I know I don’t say it enough, but-- I do. Just come home, kiddo. We’re not mad at you, nobody’s mad. Just come home.”  
  
Memories of driving down a winding highway, Poison flipping through the stations as the wind whipped through his hair. Sitting at a makeshift roadside camp, eating cooked rabbit meat in front of a bright, crackling fire. Hooking a breathing tube up to a Mousekat head. Finding a rare can of fruit cocktail and debating over who got to eat the cherry. Building a tiny slushy snowman behind a dumpster. And Poison standing in front of him and grinning boyishly, holding a fake gold coin that glinted in the sunlight.  
  
“Kobra...please...”  
  
Kobra strode over to the door and wrenched it open.  
  
Poison stood in the doorway, his hair messy and plastered to his wet face, his eyes watery and red. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock, then his expression became one of terrible grief mixed with relief. He grabbed Kobra and squeezed him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack. Kobra placed one arm around Poison’s waist and his other hand on the back of Poison’s head, and rested his cheek against his hair. Whenever he had imagined reuniting with Poison, he had pictured them jumping, talking, laughing, and clutching each other in a flurry of sobs and apologies. But they stood still in the hallway, the only sound being Poison’s muffled sobs.  
  
Poison turned and tucked his face into Kobra’s neck. Warmth washed over Kobra, the kind of warmth that he hadn’t felt in months. He squeezed Poison tightly, then closed his eyes as tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
They stood in silence for several minutes. Exhaustion washed over Kobra and he sagged against Poison. After weeks of being alone, he could have stood there for hours, letting Poison support him.  
  
Eventually, Poison pulled away and held him at arm’s length.  
  
“What happened, Kid?” he said, his voice sad.  
  
Kobra paused, then opened his mouth to speak, and the words spilled out before he could stop them.  
  
“I thought-- it’s so stupid, man. I thought that if I left, you guys would be happy, because I wouldn’t burden you anymore, and I could go off and do my own thing, you know-- but when I was out there, it was so much worse, being alone all the time, and always worried about food or gas, or getting caught by you guys, it just-- I felt like I was suffocating, like everything was fucked, which I guess it was.” He laughed harshly. “I started thinking about going to the city, because at least they’d take care of me, they’d probably cram me full of meds, I don’t know, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a zombie all the time, at least I’d be happy, I-- I’m sorry, man, I didn’t want to hurt you, or Ghoul or Jet, I just-- I’m sorry, Gerard. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Poison gently squeezed his arms, then pursed his lips and nodded.  
  
“Just-- don’t do that again, Kid,” he said. “I can’t take it, not knowing if you’re dead or alive, or where you are, or-- I want to be there, Kid, to take care of you, if you’re hurt o-or depressed. Don’t run around the desert looking for answers, Kid, ‘cause you’re not going to find them--” He sniffed and wiped his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You know what happened to me, Kid, trying to drink it all away-- you’ve got to ask for help, Kid, because we all want to help you, we’ll take care of you, kiddo.  
  
Kobra nodded as his eyes welled up again.  
  
“I just-- I don’t want to be a burden,” he said.  
  
“No, you’re not a burden, Kid, we all want you here-- we spent weeks looking for you, you’re so important to us, man, don’t you get it? We love you, kiddo, all of us do, we just want you to get better. Just come home, things’ll be different, we’ll talk to you, we’ll get you some help, okay? I tried to ignore it, because I didn’t want to deal with it, I didn’t want to see you in pain, but-- I’m gonna help you. I love you, Kid.”  
  
Kobra bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink back the tears, but something snapped inside him. Poison put his arms around him and Kobra clung to him, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. Hot emotion washed out of him, the guilt and pain that had been lodged in his mind for so long. After a few minutes, he straightened, Poison’s hands still on his waist, and dried his eyes on his sleeves. He felt fresh and cleansed, and his head was clearer than it had been in months.  
  
“I love you, Kid,” Poison said.  
  
“I love you too, man.”  
  
Poison smiled. “Ghoul’s going to be pissed off.”  
  
“He’s always pissed, dude.”  
  
“Yeah, but now I’m really in for it.”  
  
“Aww, what’d you do?”  
  
“We had a fight this morning. He’s probably spent all day interviewing everybody in Zone Two.”  
  
Kobra laughed. “Are you gonna call him and tell him I’m back?”  
  
“Nah, I’ll let him interview a few more people first.”  
  
“Aww, give him a break, dude.”  
  
“Nah, man, that’s his punishment for yelling at me.”  
  
“The hell did you guys fight about?”  
  
Poison shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just something stupid.” He paused. “Hey, I’ve got something for you, anyway. Can we go inside?” He nodded at something behind Kobra.  
  
“What?” Kobra turned around and saw the open door. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”  
  
Poison followed him inside and slowly closed the door behind him. The sun was starting to go down and the light inside the room had begun to dim. A chill had settled into the room that made Kobra’s stomach turn. While Poison dropped his bag on the bed and rifled through it, Kobra quickly lit a fire in the fireplace, then stood in front of it, clutching himself and shivering.  
  
“Are you cold?” Poison said after glancing up. He took out a bright red bundle and spread it out, then held it out to Kobra by the sleeves. It was his jacket. Kobra seized it and grinned, then shrugged off his leather jacket, tossed it on the bed, and slipped into his jacket. The fabric inside was a little stiff, but the sleekness was comfortably familiar. He stretched out his arms and turned them around, admiring the sleeves.  
  
“Oh, thank you, man,” Kobra said. “Thank you so much.”  
  
“No problem, kiddo. Now you just need to dye your hair again--” Poison reached out and ruffled Kobra’s hair.  
  
“My shirt’s gone, though. I traded it to get a vehicle.” He looked hesitantly at Poison, expecting him to be disappointed, but Poison’s expression didn’t change.  
  
“So you’ve got your own car now? What model is it?”  
  
Kobra laughed. “It’s not a car, dude. It’s a camper.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“An RV, whatever. You know, those huge trailers you live in?”  
  
“ _What?_ You got one of those?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s huge, man. You have to see it.”  
  
“Oh, man. You were on the run in _that_?”  
  
“Yup. Cheapest vehicle they had. Came with some great tunes, though. There’s one CD, where every fucking song does this--” He made skipping noises. “You’ll love it.”  
  
Poison laughed. “Can’t wait, Kid. Maybe we’ll sell it to Jack.”  
  
Kobra’s smile faded. He looked away and unconsciously touched his jaw.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“You look upset.”  
  
“It’s nothing, man.”  
  
“Did you run into him?”  
  
Kobra hesitated, then told Poison about his escape and fight with Jack. As he spoke, Poison’s expression shifted from intent listening with furrowed brow, to open-mouthed horror, to teeth bared in rage.  
  
“Are you okay, Kid?” he said, touching Kobra’s jaw.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine, man. It was a couple of months ago.”  
  
“I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”  
  
“Poison-- no, you can’t beat the shit out of him.”  
  
Poison laughed harshly. “Trust me. I can.”  
  
“He’ll beat you up, dude.”  
“Not if Ghoul’s there!”  
  
“Oh God.”  
  
“Jack tries to beat me up, and he’ll land a sweet right hook right to his jaw.” Poison punched the air.  
  
“Yeah, and then he’ll start beating Ghoul up.”  
  
“Well, that’s where Jet comes in.”  
  
“And then I have to cover for Jet?”  
  
“Nah, then it’s my turn to punch Jack. It’s like a cycle.”  
  
Kobra laughed, then picked up his black jacket. Talking about Jack had stirred something in his memory.  
  
“Hang on,” he said. “I’ve got something for you, too.”  
  
He dug around in the inside pocket and pulled out something yellow and flat, with blue sequins glittered in the firelight. Poison’s eyes lit up and he grabbed his mask, then turned it around in his hands, studying it from every angle.  
  
“Oh my God!” he said. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere, man-- did you take it?”  
  
“Not on purpose. It got mixed up with my clothes.”  
  
Poison grinned and slipped it on, then tugged it over his eyes. “I felt naked without this thing,” he said. “Couple of people didn’t even recognize me.”  
  
“Really? Even with the jacket?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s the mask that people remember.”   
  
Poison adjusted the mask, squinting as he peered through it. His jacket sleeve slipped down slightly. For the first time, Kobra noticed how bony Poison’s wrists were, and how his jacket hung limply off his frame. Guilt surged in his stomach.  
  
Poison must have read Kobra’s expression, because he paused and bit his lip, rubbing his hands together, then reached back into the bag.  
  
“I’ve got something else, actually...” he said. He fumbled around inside, then pulled out a shiny silver card and pressed it into Kobra’s hand.  
  
Kobra held it up to the light and squinted at the text. _BETTER LIVING IND. GRADE C ANTIDEPRESSANTS._ He turned the card around and saw eight plastic bubbles with round white pills sealed inside.  
  
“They’re, uh...antidepressants,” Poison said quietly, his hands pressed together. “I found them at the pharmacy here. They’ve got more, if you need them. They’re supposed to take care of depression and anxiety...”  
  
Kobra nodded slowly. “Are there side effects?”  
  
“Just, uh, headaches and dry mouth. The usual stuff.”  
  
Kobra studied the pills closely. They could slowly poison him, making him dizzy and nauseous until he collapsed on the diner floor. Or they could scrub his brain clean of emotions, leaving Poison holding him and crying while he sat limply in his arms and stared blankly off into space. Or he could have a violent allergic reaction. Or the fog of depression and anxiety could lift, and he could live without fear again...  
  
“Have these been, uh, tested out here?” Kobra said.  
  
“Yeah, I think so,” Poison said. “The guy said that a few people out here took them. We could ask him before we leave...”  
  
Kobra nodded, then slipped the card into the inside jacket pocket with his prayer beads.  
  
“Thanks, man,” he said quietly.  
  
Poison nodded solemnly.  
  
“Right. Sure. So, uh...” He rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room. “Do you want to go down to the party downstairs?”  
  
“There’s a party?” He remembered the little girl in the doorway. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Do I have to bring anything?”  
  
“Just bring yourself, kiddo. Oh wait, hang on, I gotta tell Ghoul the good news--”  
  
“So you’ve changed your mind, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve tortured him enough.”  
  
Poison unclipped his transmitter from his belt and turned the dial to Ghoul’s frequency.  
  
“Hey, Ghoul?” he said.  
  
“Poison?”  
  
Poison laughed. “I’ve got good news, man. The best news.”  
  
“What? You found Kobra?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“ _What?_ Are you shitting me?”  
  
“Nope. He’s here right now.”  
  
“Oh my God-- is he okay? What happened?”  
  
“He’s fine, man.” Poison laughed with relief. “He’s been all over the place, trying to run from us, he thought we didn’t want him but-- he’s fine. He’s just fine.”  
  
“Holy shit, man...is he there? Can I talk to him?”  
  
“Yeah, hang on a second.”  
  
Poison handed Kobra the transmitter. He took a deep breath, then said “Hello?”  
  
“Oh my God-- oh my God, it really is you. Holy shit, dude. I was starting to think I’d never hear from you again--” Ghoul laughed to hide his wavery voice. “Where have you been, dude? What happened?”  
  
Kobra told him everything that he’d told Poison. When he was finished, Ghoul was silent for few a moments.  
  
“You know that’s not true, Kid,” he said gently.  
  
“I was such a burden on you guys, man. Poison was always stressed, and you and Jet were upset--”  
  
“We were upset at your illness, Kid. We didn’t want you to take off.”  
  
“Hasn’t it been nice, though, not having to worry about me for a couple of months--”  
  
Ghoul burst out laughing. “Kid, we’ve done nothing _but_ worry about you. Poison had us searching the Zones every week, interviewing every asshole in the desert about you.”  
  
Poison stifled a laugh.  
  
“Was that him laughing? I can hear you laughing, dude. Anyway, these past couple of months have been a nightmare. Your brother’s been a wreck, crying all the time, couldn’t eat; Jet’s been quieter than usual, he spent hours searching for you, and I radioed people every day, trying to get the word out, collect evidence...you’re so important to us, man.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kobra said. “I’m so sorry, man. I--” His eyes pricked with tears and he put a hand to his mouth. Poison stepped over to him and patted his back.  
  
“It’s okay, Kid,” Ghoul said reassuringly. “It’s okay. I’m just-- I’m just glad you’re okay.”  
  
Kobra was too choked up to speak. Poison gently took the transmitter from him.  
  
“I think we’re snowed in, but we should be out in a couple of days,” Poison said.  
  
“All right. Call back in an hour, will you? I’m gonna radio Jet and let him know what happened.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
“All right. See you guys.”  
  
“Bye, Ghoul.”  
  
Poison hooked the transmitter back on his belt, then grinned at Kobra. “Well, you still want to go downstairs?”  
   
“Uh...yeah, sure. Hang on, just let me put the fire out.”  
  
After Kobra snuffed out the fire and locked the door, Poison put a hand on his back and led him down the stairs.  
  
“They’ve got this _amazing_ food, Kid,” he said. “They’ve got these greasy fried potatoes-- yeah, you like those, don’t you?” He laughed at Kobra’s excited expression. “And these sweet balls of dough--” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “And a bottle of wine, which I didn’t try ‘cause it looked pretty shady. And this painting, holy shit, you’ve got to see it. It’s hand-painted, with this really fine texture, and there’s this little girl in a bathtub, I mean, next to a bathtub, with her hand swirling the water around--”  
  
Kobra smiled to himself as he listened to Poison’s familiar rambling.  
  
“You’ve gotta see it, Kid, I’ll show you when we get there. I asked if it was for sale, but they said they wanted fifty carbons for it, which is ridiculous, man.”  
  
“Well, trade your shirt for it.”  
  
Poison laughed. “Nah, I don’t think I should take my shirt off in the middle of the room.”  
  
“Eh, the girls probably wouldn’t mind.”  
  
They reached the bottom of the stairs and heard a gasp. Kobra turned to see Sunny jump out of her chair and hurry up to them.  
  
“Oh my goodness!” she said. “Are you guys okay? What happened? I heard crying upstairs and I thought about checking on you guys, but I didn’t want to butt in--”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine,” Poison said. “We’re fine. No, we just, uh, got a little emotional.” He smiled at Kobra and put his arm around his shoulders. “But we’re fine. Thank you.”  
  
“Are you sure? I’m so sorry, Michael, I didn’t want to tell on you, but he was so upset, and I couldn’t lie--”  
  
Kobra looked at her in surprise. “You’re the one who told him?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, but he told me how sad he was, and how much he missed you, and he looked so sad, I’m so sorry, Michael--”  
   
“It’s okay,” Kobra said quickly. “It’s okay. No, uh-- I’m glad you told him.” He turned to Poison and tried to smile, but his eyes dimmed with emotion.  
  
Poison patted his shoulder, then reached out and seized Sunny’s hand. “Yes. Thank you, Miss, uh...”  
  
“Sunny,” she said, shaking his hand.  
  
“Sunny. Right. Thank you so much, Sunny.” He shook her hand vigorously. “We’ve been searching for him for weeks, I was beginning to lose hope, but--” He shook himself and smiled. “He’s here now. Thank you.”  
  
She nodded. “No problem, sir.”  
  
“You wanna come back to the party with us?”  
  
She grinned and nodded and followed them to the doorway. Poison led Kobra into the crowded, noisy room. Kobra’s stomach growled as he eyed the half-empty tray of potato slices and the bowl of dough balls. He started toward the tray, then stopped as he realized that half the crowd had stopped to stare at him and Poison. A girl in a blue tank top gasped and pointed at Poison’s mask, then clapped her hands to her mouth when she saw Kobra.  
  
“Is that--” she began.  
  
Poison wrapped an arm around Kobra’s shoulders and smiled fondly. “Yep,” he said. “My brother.”


	8. Chapter 8

After a few hours passed and the crowd started to dissipate, Poison and Kobra headed back to room 3B. Kobra’s mouth was sticky and sour from the sip of wine that Poison had dared him to try. His stomach was pleasantly full, and his head buzzed with memories of rapid conversations, a squealing and jumping girl named Becca, sweet and greasy food, Jet’s relieved voice when Kobra spoke to him over the transmitter, flickering lamps placed on tables and mounted to the walls, and the painting that hung next to the bookshelf. Poison had pointed out the sweep and texture of the brushstrokes, the girl’s solemn expression, and how the pink petals caught your eye in a painting full of silver and white.  
  
“It brings out-- hey, listen.” Poison had swatted Kobra’s shoulder. He had been distracted by a passing giggly girl. “It brings out her skin tone, too.” He pointed to the girl’s face. “See?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I see.”  
  
Now Kobra unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open. The room was pitch black and cold as a refrigerator. Anxiety started to rise as the darkness pressed against him, but Poison calmly brushed past him, patted around for the bedside table, dug the matchbook out of the top drawer, and lit the lamp that sat on the table. His features were suddenly illuminated by flickering orange light. He dropped his bag on the bed, then carried the lamp and a box of matches over to the fireplace and began to light it.  
  
After a few minutes, a bright orange fire crackled and popped in the fireplace. Poison rested the lamp on the bedside table, then sat down on the bed and slipped off his boots as if he had lived here for years. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped it into his bag, then pulled out a fuzzy blue sweater and pulled it on.  
  
Poison looked at Kobra questioningly. “Kid, are you gonna--”  
  
“Left all my clothes in the camper.”  
  
“You did? You can’t leave your stuff around, man. Someone might snatch it.”  
  
“Man, I’m not going to carry my clothes around for a mile.”  
  
“A mile?”  
  
“Yeah, we parked at the other end of town.”  
  
“Oh, you did? Well, hang on, I think I’ve got something you could use--” He dug around in his bag for a minute, the contents shifting and knocking around inside. “Aha!” He pulled out a grey long-sleeved sweatshirt with the faded letters _PEACHTREE UNIVERSITY_ across the chest.  
  
“Thanks, man.” Kobra pulled off his jacket and dropped it in the bag, then tugged on the sweatshirt. He sat down next to Poison and pulled off his boots.  
  
“Are you gonna stay here tonight?” he said.  
  
“Yeah, I gave my room to Chelsea,” he said. Chelsea was a penniless woman they had met with a screaming baby.  
  
Kobra nodded and tucked his hands inside his sleeves. He knew the real reason Poison wanted to stay: his fear that Kobra would run away again.  
  
“Do you have a sleeping bag in there?” Kobra said, nodding to the bag.  
  
“Nah, I thought we’d share the bed.” Poison unclipped his transmitter and laid it on the table. “Why, you don’t want my cooties?”  
  
“Keep your cooties to yourself, man.”  
  
Poison laughed a little, then dropped his bag on the floor and kicked it under the bed. He stood up, gesturing for Kobra to do the same, and bent over the table and blew out the lamp. Then he lifted the bedsheet and climbed into bed. He lay flat on his back and folded his hands over his stomach, then sighed and closed his eyes.  
  
“Good night, Kid,” he said.  
  
“Good night, Poison.”  
  
Kobra wrapped his arms around himself and gazed into the fireplace. The room was silent except for the fire’s pop and crackle, and the occasional sounds of footsteps hurrying past in the hallway. The firelight bathed the front of the room in a warm orange glow, but the corners of the room were cold and shrouded in darkness. Kobra stared numbly into the fire, the way he had during missions a few months before his escape. When they had crowded around a campfire at night, he stared quietly into the flames. The fire was the only light in a vast open desert shrouded by cold and darkness. Four insignificant men and their insignificant fire. Eventually the fire would burn out, and one day they, too, would burn out, and the years would pass and the world would forget that they had ever existed. They were nothing but tiny orange sparks that shot up, burned for a moment, and then disappeared into the darkness.  
  
After a few minutes, he turned to see Poison watching him, the firelight reflected in his eyes.  
  
Kobra shook his head in embarrassment, then climbed into bed beside Poison. He curled up beneath the covers, then turned on his side and stared at the striped floral wallpaper. He waited for Poison’s breathing to even out and signify that he was asleep, but it didn’t happen.  
  
Finally, Poison whispered “What’s wrong, Kid?”  
  
“Nothing,” Kobra whispered back.  
  
“Are you afraid of what the guys’ll say?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra lied.  
  
“It’ll be okay, Kid. No one’s going to be mad at you.”  
  
Kobra nodded. A few minutes of silence passed.  
  
“Are you okay, Kid?” Poison said.  
  
Kobra nodded.  
  
“Are you tired of running?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“You can rest for a few days after you get back. Ghoul can wash the clothes, he’s done it for the past couple of months anyway.”  
  
Kobra nodded and shifted in bed. Poison’s voice cut through his head like an incessant tapping.  
  
“Pony’ll probably want to see you, but we can hold him off for a few days.”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“But if you want to see Dr. D, we--”  
  
“ _Okay,_ man.”  
  
Poison fell silent. Then he shifted under the sheets, repositioned his head on his pillow, and sighed.  
  
“Do you want me to leave?” he said.  
  
Kobra sighed. “No, man.”  
  
“I lied about the Chelsea thing. I can go back to my room.”  
  
“No, don’t leave.”  
  
“Look, I know you don’t want to say anything, but--”  
  
“Poison, I don’t want you to leave!”  
  
Kobra jerked up in bed and pushed back the sheet. He sat upright for a few moments, breathing hard, then slumped against the headboard. Poison sat up and watched him silently.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kobra said. He rubbed his face with his hands, then let them fall down into his lap. “I’m so sorry, man. I just-- I shouldn’t feel like this.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like-- I don’t know. Angry. And depressed. I should be happy right now, man.”  
  
Poison thought for a moment, fidgeting his hands in his lap, then reached out and rubbed Kobra’s shoulder.  
  
“You’re still depressed, Kid,” he said gently. “Coming home isn’t gonna change that.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, but-- this is the first time I’ve seen you for two months. I’m going home, I’m going to spend Christmas with the guys-- I should be jumping for joy right now.”  
  
“It’s okay, Kid. It’s not your fault.”  
  
He shook his head. “No, I could have tried harder,” he said softly. “I knew this was coming. I could’ve gotten more sleep, or tried to warn you guys, or ate something instead of starving myself like a pathetic piece of shit--” He laughed harshly.  
  
Poison swatted his shoulder. “Don’t call yourself that.”  
  
“I _am,_ dude. I knew this was coming, I did nothing to stop it, and I sat there and let you all try to clean up the mess. I’m a pathetic piece of shit.”  
  
Poison opened his mouth to speak, but Kobra cut him off.  
  
“And look at you, man. You’re losing weight, your hair is falling out, you can’t sleep, you’re stressed and tense all the time--”  
  
Poison scratched his hair absently. “After you left.”  
  
“No, this was even before I left. I’m killing you, Poison! I’m making you miserable! I’m making the whole team miserable!”   
  
“Kobra, stop--”  
  
“No! And you think things are going to be different, but when I get back, nothing’s going to change! It’ll be the same fucking shit all over again! It’s _not going to change,_ Poison, this shit is hardwired in my brain, I’m going to be a burden on you for the rest of your life until I finally drop dead from--”  
  
“Don’t,” Poison said suddenly. “Don’t fucking say that.”  
  
Kobra went silent.   
  
“You wanna know the truth?” he said, punctuating each sentence by jabbing his finger in the air. “You want to know what the real fucking burden is? Your brother disappearing in the middle of the night, without even leaving a note! Searching for him for weeks! Spending every waking moment wondering where he is, if he’s okay, or if he’s hurt, or-- and getting your hopes up over false evidence! Having people tell you they saw your brother, and after driving for an hour, he’s not fucking there! Chasing after you all over the Zones, and walking around the diner and seeing all this shit that reminds me of you, and hearing your favorite fucking Queen song on the radio, and throwing your helmet in a closet ‘cause I can’t look at it without gagging-- _that’s_ the fucking burden, Kid! Okay? That’s the fucking burden!”  
  
Poison slumped forward, breathing hard. His hair hung over his face, and he wiped his eyes on his knuckles. When he looked up, Kobra saw wetness smeared around his eyes that shone in the firelight.  
  
“I-I’m sorry,” Kobra said. His voice cracked for the third time that day, and he almost laughed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, man. I thought I was doing the right thing, I just, oh God--”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said quietly. “I know.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Poison, I didn’t want to hurt you, I--”  
  
Poison shook his head. “C’mere, Kid.”  
  
Kobra inched over to Poison, who slipped his arms around him. Kobra wrapped his arms around Poison’s waist and laid his head on his shoulder. They sat there for a long time, gazing into the fireplace. The fire now seemed warm and cheerful instead of ominous.  
  
Eventually they separated and crawled back under the covers. Kobra lay flat on his back this time, one hand on his stomach and the other tucked under the pillow.  
  
“You’ll be okay, Kid,” Poison murmured with his eyes closed.  
  
Kobra nodded, then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.  
 

 


End file.
